


Wildflowers in the Thicket

by MagiCraft



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: AU, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 08:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17763662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagiCraft/pseuds/MagiCraft
Summary: Sakurai Sho's new post as a groundskeeper for the Aiba's Chiba residence has an unexpected perk, in the -rather pleasing- form of Aiba Masaki. Despite an awkward first encounter, they soon find themselves gravitating towards each other.





	Wildflowers in the Thicket

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pikamiya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pikamiya/gifts).



Sakurai Sho shifted from foot to foot subtly. The lady of the house had called out for his attention from quite far away, and standing in his dirty coveralls watching her slowly approach was awkward. He tried to discreetly wipe some of the soil from his knees, and only spread more dirt from his hands onto his clothing instead. He cringed. In his year employed by the Aiba family, only the bright eyed matriarch ever sought him out in the garden, but when she did, it was usually with some suggestion that required weeks of work to implement.

 

She was always careful to defer to his knowledge and expertise, but she was also of an age with Sakurai's own mother, and kind and encouraging in a way that made Sho _want_ to rise to each challenge for her. He expected no different then, when her melodic voice had called across the garden where Sakurai was busy replanting a flowerbed.

 

It was midwinter; a slow season as a groundskeeper or gardener, and Sakurai worried that the lady might have some impossible task.

 

“Oh dear….” She peered with exaggerated concern as she got near, at the state of the plants Sakurai had been trying to save. Some of the roots had been exposed to the chill December air, and Sakurai wasn’t confident that they would recover. “What happened here?”

 

“The peafowl, I suspect.” He answered. “Nothing that can’t be fixed though.” He reassured her. It was true. While it might bother _him_ , the Aibas would and could easily replace any plant or shrub that did not continue to grow how they saw fit. They weren’t callous, but there was no reason to be sentimental about a garden they paid him to manage, maintain or completely redesign depending on trends.

 

They exchanged pleasantries for a spell, with her remarking on the changes he had made to their stately gardens favourably, while he graciously accepted the praise and waited. Sooner or later, she would say what she truly wanted to say, and Sakurai could get back to work.

 

It took a while, but she eventually got to the point. “Ah, yes, Sakurai-kun, my husband and I wondered if you could join us at dinner this evening? We’ve some big plans for a landscaping project we’d like to start in the spring.”

 

Sho had no reason to decline.

 

He was shown to the family dinning room later that evening by the butler, Isogai. It was odd, being led like an esteemed guest by the prim and proper servant; Sakurai was much more used to seeing the man as a colleague, and quiet lively after a few beers. He kept that to himself though, and made it easy for Isogai to do his job by accepting his seat at the table respectfully, thanking the butler with a nod.

 

The Aiba’s did not often eat in at home unless their adult son came to visit with his wife and children, and so such formal dinners were rare. That they would put on such pageantry simply to task him with something seemed excessive. Sakurai had to wonder about the scale of what they planned to ask him. He did not have much in terms of fashionable dinner jackets or formal attire, so he wore the suit he had been hired in. Sakurai had worked his way up from the bottom at his previous job, earning the experience that allowed him to walk into the position of the Aiba Estate Groundskeeper, but that left few opportunities to dress up in his day-to-day life.

 

His employers approved of his choice, though, he could tell by the welcome he received and the compliments they paid him. Over all, the meal and company was excellent, and Sakurai was not shy about expressing just that. Working for them, Sakurai was coming to learn that they were exacting with their staff, but extremely proud of them too, and they seemed pleased that the meal was so well liked.

 

In spite of the oddness of the evening -- of sharing dinner with his bosses -- Sakurai loosened up more and more as time went on. By dessert, he had completely forgotten that he still did not know what they had wanted to speak to him about. When the genial, grey-haired husband brought it up, Sakurai was blindsided by the implications.

 

He latched onto the last word the man spoke, repeating it in shock because the rest of the sentence slipped through his fingers like water. “Relocate?” He had only been there a year and they wanted to relocate him? It was too soon yet for them to truly see the fruits of his labour; Spring would bring with it proof of every effort he had made and they were getting rid of him before his garden could even bloom?

 

Was that all this dinner had been? A civilised way to say goodbye to an employee they were unhappy with? An offer of relocation was surely some way to sidestep the unpleasantness of having to fire him directly. The Aiba family did not have half a dozen private homes in need of a groundskeeper in a 50-mile radius. It felt so unfair as his mind raced; his rental agreement on his nearby apartment had months left and he had had no inkling that they were unhappy with his work.

 

Should he plead with them? Protest? How would they judge his moral fiber if he caused a scene or fought his corner? He didn’t know them well enough yet. With less than a year under his belt, and few occasions to interact, he hadn’t had the chance to yet.

 

“Sakurai-kun, dear,” The wife’s voice was soothing, cutting through Sho’s panic with an assured evenness. “Please understand, we have been impressed by your skill and your initiative, which is exactly what is needed in a groundskeeper at our summer residence.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“You have such vision, which I am afraid I am guilty of stifling from time to time.” She continued. She laced her persuasion with glowing compliments, which warmed Sakurai deeply; melting into confusion. If the relocation was a ploy, would she work so hard to convince Sakurai to accept it? “Our eldest son occupies the summer residence most of the year with a much reduced staff, you’d hardly know he was there. You would have so much more freedom to do what you want with the outside spaces, unconstrained.”

 

Sakurai was trying to think. He had seen their eldest son recently -- briefly and from a distance -- when the whole family had gathered for his birthday. Sakurai couldn’t remember his name, and hadn’t really seen his face, but he did remember his laugh. It had rang out over the courtyard to where Sakurai was shaping shrubbery, and drawn his attention to the animated silhouette walking into the house, open-armed and struggling under the weight of an excited niece. The seven-year-old girl that sometimes came to Sakurai that summer to pick roses for her grandmother was one of Sho’s favourite things about his new job. She was bright and charming and Sakurai had been glad to see her boisterous affection had been met with joy.

 

The Aiba’s eldest son, from what he knew, was perfectly likeable, but then Sakurai already liked where he was. Picking his words carefully and speaking in the politest way he could, he rambled a little to buy himself time. “Aiba-san, if I have given the impression that I am unhappy with any aspect of my role here, I sincerely apologise. Forgive me, I thought you wanted to discuss a project and-”

 

He was out-talked and countered at every point. Sakurai, they assured him, was being offered the opportunity precisely because they were impressed with his accomplishments. The summer house gardens had not undergone any major changes in a decade, the former groundskeeper had worked his twilight years, well past retirement and had not been replaced. The more the couple talked, the more Sakurai was convinced that perhaps it was not such a bad idea. The pay would be the same, but he would have his own cottage on site, they said.

 

It became clear that they _wanted_ him to take this new position -- although he couldn’t fathom why -- and so they had wined and dined him in an effort to recruit him. Sakurai did not hate the idea of being so highly thought of that they wanted him to design and maintain a second home, and when the kindly wife of the Aiba family reminded him that it would only be for a year, Sho finally agreed.

 

He took some time to tie up his life while winter kept the gardens quiet. It cost more than it was worth to forfeit his lease, so he didn’t, choosing to store most of his belongings until his return the following spring, and taking just a few boxes and some luggage that could fit easily in the trunk of his car. He made the journey in January, after a surprisingly touching send off by colleagues he had only just been getting to know, and friends that reminded him that Chiba really wasn’t that far away. It certainly felt like he was embarking on some epic quest, the day he left though. All the Aiba family, save for the one he’d yet to meet, had gathered to see him off as though he was a part of their family, and not just the gardener of barely a year.

 

The Chiba house was less remarkable than Sakurai had imagined. Visually, it did not compare to the size and scope of the Tokyo home, which boasted more rooms than a modern hotel and architecture made to emulate the Georgian period. The building itself was beautiful, still larger than most condominiums, and surrounded by sprawling land and incredible vistas on all sides. The private road up to the residence had been half a mile long, and Sakurai began to get an inkling into the size of the task ahead of him.

 

The building stood amidst more open, untouched private land than Sakurai had ever seen. Large open lawns just waiting to be landscaped and tended, huge expanses of wintery foliage and some gardened edges that had been too many seasons without care before fall swept in. It was patrician in its excess and bourgeoise in its utility, he thought. So much could be done with the space, and yet it sat empty, devoid of production or beauty. Already, Sakurai began to plan how he might change that.

 

Parked in front of the main building, Sho wasn’t quite sure where to go from there. He had been told only that his new cottage was slightly apart from the house itself. “Completely self contained, private and at your full disposal, Sakurai-kun.” His employer had enthused when Sakurai had been agonising over what to pack. “It even has a seperate address for mail, since Koyama liked to get his gardening supplies sent there.”

 

But Sho’s GPS couldn’t direct him any further than the main house, and none of the three small roads leading to elsewhere on the property were signposted. He walked towards the door ready to introduce himself. With half a mile of warning, he had expected someone to open the door to greet him before he thought how strange it was to ring the doorbell of such an illustrious home.

 

The noise seemed to go on forever, an overpowering clanging of bells which could not possibly be real but sounded so close and brassy that Sakurai wondered if there was a belfry that he somehow could not see. The sound had made him jump when it began, and had him cringing when it did not stop for nearly a full thirty seconds. It was excruciatingly long.

 

Then there was silence.

 

The heavy door pulled wide and Sakurai was rendered speechless. Sakurai had been warned about the reduced staff, but he did not expect Aiba Masaki, eldest son and heir to all the Aiba family holdings to open his own door. Yet there was no denying it. Even sight unseen, Sakurai recognised the man by the resemblance to his mother: twenty years younger, a little more angular, but just as striking, with long, willowy proportions that fit them differently and suited them equally.

 

“Oh? Is the stuff in your car?” No greeting, no formal introduction, Aiba Masaki talked to him like they had known each other for years, his voice full of anticipation that Sakurai was both confused and amused by. “Is it heavy? Do you want me to help you carry it in?” On top of the uncanny family likeness, the sound of his voice was familiar. Not because he spoke like his family, or because Sakurai had exchanged words with him before, but because Aiba Masaki talked like he laughed; happily and full of cheer.

 

The sound of it was infectious, and Sho couldn’t help the grin that replaced his plastered-on polite smile the moment the aristocrat had opened his mouth. “Uh, sure…?” Aiba bounded down the steps two at a time and then had to wait for Sho to join him. He ignored the small suitcase on the back seat, and took two boxes from the trunk, allowing Aiba to carry one ahead of him into the house and trailing behind with the other. He followed along blindly, trusting his new boss to know exactly where Sakurai would need to go.

 

“You’re so fast. When I got the email today about dispatch, ” Aiba chatted as he walked. “I wasn’t expecting you to arrive until tomorrow.”

 

 His long stride made it difficult for Sakurai keep up a conversation and to pay attention to where they were going. “Well, it really wasn’t so far to come.” He replied modestly. That got a chuckle out of the man. Sakurai wasn’t meant to start work until tomorrow, but he’d seen no harm in settling in the night before. At least Aiba didn’t seem to mind and didn’t think him presumptuous.

 

“It’s just in here…” Aiba turned abruptly, entering a study at the rear of the house. The room had all the trappings of a dignified home office for a wealthy banker or any kind of monied man. Solid hardwood furniture, bespoke pieces and shelves crammed full of leather bound first edition books with incredibly dull titles. “The lab upstairs is so full.” Aiba carried on while he placed the box in the middle of the floor and motioned for Sakurai to do the same. “So I figured… this room _is_ called a _study_ , right?” He laughed, and then waited for Sho to do the same.

 

Sakurai didn’t get it. He was still holding his box too, waiting to understand what his boss’s son wanted him to do. Did Aiba Masaki just need a break? Was the box of his summer work clothes really that heavy? Or maybe this was supposed to be some sort of house tour and Aiba had chosen to start in the study because the patio doors looked out onto a section of the garden that was better kempt than the rest?

 

After a few beats without a response to his joke, Aiba stopped waiting for Sho to put his own burden, and to Sakurai’s horror, Aiba tore into the top of the box at his feet, and reached inside. “Wait! What are y-!?” He nearly choked on his own tongue when Aiba pulled his hand back up with a pair of Sho’s red boxer-briefs bunched in his fist. Sakurai squeezed his eyes shut.

 

“Oh. This isn’t what I ordered.”

 

“Eh?” Sho did not try to censure the rude way he addressed Aiba in that moment. This man who had just become his employer - whom he _had only just met_ \- had rifled through his personal belongings like it was perfectly acceptable and normal, and Sakurai was not happy about it. “What do you think you are doing? You have no right to just help yourself to the contents of these boxes. I could report you, I could-” He was angry, and getting angier the more he spoke.

 

Aiba Masaki finally dropped Sho’s underwear back into the box like it burned. “ _Report me!?_ ” Desperately waving his arms in some sort of denial on wrong doing. “No, no. I paid for it, right? Or I- well, not _this_ because it’s supposed to be - Oh! I get it, I haven’t signed for it, yet. I need to sign for it, right?”

 

“What are you talking about?” Sakurai practically exploded when he could finally get a word in edgeways. Sho had worked for well-off families before, but he had never had the misfortune of meeting anyone who actually fit the stereotype of the maliciously entitled heir. Yet here was this rich privileged asshole who seemed to think that just because he had looks and money, he could treat his employees like he owned everything about them. Sakurai wouldn’t stand for it.

 

“Just because I have been hired for a job does not mean you own me and all my possessions, Aiba- _san_. If this is how you treat the people in service to you, I’m not surprised you have to live alone out here with not enough staff to answer your door. This past year, your mother and father have treated me well and been nothing but respectful, but I can see now, that regardless of how much you might wear your family’s face, you are not like them _at all._ ”

 

He stopped to draw a breath, and Aiba tried to talk over him, but Sakurai was not done. Back straight with his shoulders drawn up and squared by the way his hands had balled into fists at his sides, he tried to look the other man in the eyes, though the taller man avoided it. “I demand that you apologise at once. I might not be of your station, but everyone deserves their dignity and respect and you need to restore mine.”

 

“But I-”

 

“If you will not, I will return to your family home in Tokyo this evening. I am sure-”

 

“No! Wait please.”

 

Sho did stop. Long enough to look at the man in front of him and see how close he had brought him to frantic tears. Good.

 

“You’re not the delivery guy from Deano Labs, are you?” Aiba’s voice was thready, sheepish and scared and making him sound like a boy rather than a man the same age as Sakurai himself.

 

“Who?”

 

“I… I ordered some equipment for my experiments yesterday and….” He scrubbed his fingers roughly though his hair, leaving it mussed, his face scrunched up at the uncomfortable realisation. “That’s not _this_ , is it?”

 

Sho didn’t cringe; he felt all the blood drain from his face in that moment. The heat of all the self-righteous rage left in an instant and cold dread gripped him. “I- I am _so-”_

 

Aiba spoke over him. “I’m really very sorry.”

 

“Please forgive me.” They apologised at the same time, with different words but the same miserable hopelessness.

 

Sakurai was afraid to speak. He had lost his temper and probably his job, and was just waiting for the axe to fall. He decided to be brave, to look Aiba Masaki in the eyes and meet his fate with courage. He’d never been fired before, and certainly not before his first day, but at least he hadn’t given up his Tokyo apartment. Although, he wouldn’t have it for long without a job to pay the rent.

 

The standoff went on uncomfortably long. So much worse than the doorbell, Sho thought. He wished he could go back in time to that moment after he’d pressed that button, when the most awkward part of his day was listening to bells ring a wedding toll at someones door.

 

Then Aiba laughed. It was a self-conscious little chuckle that broke the tension and allowed Sakurai to breath again. Oh, but he was happy to hear that laugh. “So… Uh….? These clothes are… yours?” Aiba was extra careful to confirm everything with Sakurai then. “And not Deano Labs sending me the wrong items?”

 

“Yes. It’s my luggage. I’m Sakurai Sho. Your new…. Your parents sent me here to be the groundskeeper. It’s… it’s nice to meet you.”

 

The explanation triggered some memory for Aiba. “Oh! Right! Yeah, of course. Koyama’s replacement. You’ll need to take your stuff to the cottage. Let me help!” Aiba picked up the box which had caused such a scene minutes ago and headed straight for the patio doors. “This way’s quicker, come on, follow me.” He smiled disarmingly, every scrap of his earlier upset blown away by Sakurai’s introduction.

 

Sho wasn’t completely over his outburst, but it didn’t matter if his own feet didn’t want to work; there was something magnetic about Aiba Masaki, and he couldn’t help being pulled along in his wake. He hefted the box, adjusting his grip, and he chased Masaki down the winding garden path to his new home.

 

The cottage was small, but still larger than anything Sho thought he would need. It looked like it had been designed to house a small family, and even had a small section of garden fenced off for personal use. Aiba showed him inside, but stopped short of showing him around the fully furnished abode. “Well, this is it… um…. Welcome.”

 

Sakurai nodded, extremely grateful that Aiba made a quick exit after that.

 

He stayed inside his new home for the rest of the day, getting familiar with the two bedroom dwelling and trying not to think about his disastrous first meeting with Aiba Masaki. Which only made him ruminate on it more.

 

It had started so well, Sho thought, when Masaki had opened the door to him and been so quick to offer his help. The family resemblance had made the man feel instantly familiar; and Sho had responded to that and gotten swept up in his energy. When Aiba had-- when Sakurai had thought Masaki was making a fool of him after Sho had been so quick to trust him, Sakurai had lashed out. He had made some terrible assumptions about his new employer and he did not know how to fix the damage he’d done to a relationship they had yet to forge.

 

“The grounds are big enough to get lost in…” He muttered to himself when he opened the box to start putting away his things and saw his underwear sitting on top of all the other items. He felt like his cheeks might match the colour of the thread. “Maybe I can work the whole year and never have to see him again.”

 

He balled the offending article of clothing in his hands and threw it towards the dresser drawer he’d opened for the purpose. The fabric unfurled and floated lazily to the ground two feet short of the goal, now littering his new bedroom floor like some remnant of a sleazy encounter. That line of thought only frustrated him more.

 

The Aiba family were an attractive bunch, Sakurai had always known that, but the sight of Masaki at the door earlier had damn nearly stolen the breath from Sho’s lungs. The contours of his face, the high cheekbones and long straight nose that flared wide and fit the full sculpted cupids bow of his lips. The way the shallow arch of his brows emphasised the perfect roundness of his eyes. Each and every part of him connected perfectly with the next.

 

It had hit him all at once, and before he could remind himself that Aiba Masaki would be his boss for the next 12 months, the man had fashed a flawless smile that dimpled his cheeks and creased the corners of his eyes.

 

Sakurai had always admired things of beauty, it was part of what he enjoyed about gardening. He liked how even the most unassuming soil could flourish and burst with colour and interest in the right season; and people weren’t so different. There was nothing plain about the wealthy scholar in front of him, but he was like a garden already in full bloom; bursting with life.

 

The problem, Sakurai told himself, was how quickly it had all happened. He had followed Aiba through the house with half a dozen unfinished thoughts tumbling inside his head: He was halfway to thinking himself lucky that he had accepted the job, because Aiba Masaki seemed so kind, because the garden seemed to need him, because he’d have plenty to admire in his time here, when Aiba had fondled his pants.

 

The mental pedestal Sakurai had begun to construct beneath the gorgeous man had crumbled, and Sakurai was as mad at himself as he had been at Masaki. He’d been so quick to judge one way, and then the other, that Sakurai did not trust himself to think about the man at all.

 

Especially when his mind kept picturing Aiba’s long fingers curled around his underwear; eyebrows lifted suggestively with the slightly bemused smirk he’s worn right before Sakurai had laid into him. It was ridiculous and hypocritical to be getting hot under the collar at the idea of his attractive employer palming his boxer-briefs when the reality of it had so offended him.

 

And yet.

 

Aiba had not meant to offend him. It was a misunderstanding that he seemed genuinely sorry about. In his mind, Sakurai pictured the ruins of the pedestal he’d nearly made for the man and wondered if he could fix the mess. He recalled how Aiba had looked, his dark brown hair tousled and his eyes shining on the edge of tears, pleading with Sho to listen to him. Sakurai sighed, it must have been humiliating.

 

Hadn’t he said that everyone deserved dignity and respect? Sakurai figured he was enough of a hypocrite, and the least he could do would be to find Masaki the following day and try to make amends properly. For that night, he avoided the house entirely, walking around to collect his car and park it on his own small driveway for the evening.    
  
*

 

Thirty-six.

 

Thirty-six was the number of emails from his mother that Masaki had been avoiding since Autumn when she’d started forwarding him profiles of young women looking to marry into the Aiba family. Masaki simply had no interest in taking time out of his work to build the kind of relationship that would lead to a successful marriage, and his family certainly did not require it to forge any ties or allegiances. Besides, his brother Yusuke had pretty much secured the continuation of the Aiba line, and Masaki felt no guilt about leaving it to him and his happy little family.

 

Among the emails Masaki had left unread was one titled ‘Sakurai-san (36)”.

 

He had opened it the moment he returned to his lab the previous day. Sure enough, the message was to remind her son that the new groundskeeper would be arriving in mid-January, and Masaki was supposed to ask the housekeeper to air out the cottage and have the accountant prepare the gardening budget for him. He’d done none of that, of course; because the last email she had sent about Koyama’s replacement had had the word ‘Gardener’ in the subject line. All the other mails with names as the subject had been people she wanted her son to date.

 

It was too late to send Nakayama to the cottage ahead of Sakurai, though he did ask the maid to check in with Sho, to show him around the grounds and introduce him to the other staff. He also asked her to call the accountant because Aiba’s invoices from Deano Labs were due any day now and he didn’t want Shige to yell at him again about irresponsible spending habits.

 

Aiba had been yelled at enough recently.

 

Masaki squirmed at his desk. A single night was not nearly enough to lessen the shame he felt about his actions yesterday. He’d acted without thinking, and made himself look like some sort of pervert to the outspoken newcomer.

 

A newcomer that had threatened to tell his mother how Aiba had disgraced himself and demanded an apology. Masaki dropped his head on his desk with a thud and knocked his black frame reading glasses crooked. He groaned. “Ouch….”

 

There was a quiet rapping on the door. “Aiba-sama?” Nakayama Miho opened the door softly, making sure she wasn’t interrupting something before entering fully. “Sakurai-kun has been acclimatising to his new surroundings all morning. He mentioned arranging a time to meet with you to discuss the garden?” Nakayama had worked for the Aiba family longer than Masaki had been alive, and while every word she uttered was respectful and proper, sometimes she asked things that really weren’t questions at all.

 

“I’ll go find him right now.” he stood from his chair, trying to hide his reluctance.

 

The maid nodded, satisfied that Aiba had listened to her. “He’s inspecting the greenhouse currently.” she informed him as she bowed out of the room.

 

He had to take a few deep breaths and shake some tension out of his limbs, but he headed straight for the somewhat overgrown structure as promised. His heart was already pounding in his chest when he got there, nerves making his lips pull into an anxious grin. Yesterday, he’d tried to pretend the incident hadn’t happened at all, but it wasn’t working, and it was making it harder to be around the gardener, with this looming awkwardness hanging over them.

 

He spotted Sakurai through the unwashed glass, tinged green by the sheer layer of moss trying to cling to the surface. He had tied his overalls around his waist, exposing the white t-shirt he had worn underneath, and he was crouched low inspecting a seam near the floor with his back to the door. The shirt rode up as he bent over, and Aiba could see the muscles of Sakurai’s lower back sliding under his skin. Unfortunately, the fabric of the tied off overalls hung shapeless over his rear, disguising what Aiba was sure would have been a great view.

 

_Unfortunately?_

 

Aiba stopped just short of pulling open the door. What was he thinking about? He shook his head like it might dislodge the unwelcome thought and announced himself to the unaware gardener. “Sakurai-san? Nakayama said you wanted to talk?”

 

Even in winter, it was hot in the greenhouse, and Sakurai’s cheeks were flushed pink, his face and neck glistening with sweat. “Ah, yes. About the garden. Uh what you want me to do with it, I mean.”

 

He was a fast talker, Aiba noted, and not just when he was mad. It forced Aiba to pay attention so that he did not miss a syllable. The more he focused on Sakurai, however, the more he found to be distracted by. He couldn’t help laughing at his own ridiculousness. Wasn’t it absurd to be so uncomfortable around him just because he’d accidentally seen his lucky red pants?

 

Well, Aiba didn’t _know_ if they were lucky or not, but he had friends who _did_ have lucky red pants, and he had never been embarrassed by them before. In fact, Masaki had seen Jun in nothing but those red pants once, and it wasn’t a big deal even though Jun had been pretty mad about it too.

 

“Aiba-san?”          

 

“Oh right. I don’t know.” He grinned, trying to cover for zoning out so utterly. Sho probably did not want to know that Aiba couldn’t stop thinking about his underwear. “You’re the professional. Can’t you just…. Do what you like?”

 

“That’s-- Usually I am given some direction.” He pointed out. Tendrils of his black hair clung damply to his forehead, and he left a streak of dirt when he tried to push them back.

 

“But I don’t know anything about that.” Aiba pointed out the obvious. He questioned whether his input was really necessary, and although Sakurai seemed hesitant, he eventually agreed to come up with some landscaping plans for Masaki’s approval. “I’ll agree to anything though.” Aiba warned the gardener. Sakurai raised his eyebrows at that, so Aiba added: “As long as it doesn’t annoy my accountant. He’s kind of scary.”

 

Sakurai snorted. “You’re scared of your accountant?” His posture stiffened the second the words spilled from his lips, his wide eyes telegraphing that he had not meant to mock Aiba to his face.

 

He grinned. He wanted Sakurai to know that he could speak freely with him.  “Absolutely. Accountants and angry gardeners, both are equally terrifying.”

 

Sakurai’s whole body moved when he laughed, starting at his shoulders and ending with a little shake of his knees. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry about that.”

 

“It was my fault.” Aiba shrugged, dismissing Sakurai’s latest apology. “I didn’t expect the new gardener to be so….” Half a dozen adjectives crossed Masaki’s mind then, half a dozen words he didn’t dare say out loud because he was still trying to clear up his previous inappropriate behaviour, and he didn’t want to add to it. While it was perfectly obvious to Masaki that Sakurai was good looking and well built, it wouldn’t do to say it and make things uncomfortable again.

 

“So...what?” Sakurai prompted when Aiba trailed off.

 

“So young.” Aiba offered instead. “I guess because Koyama was already an old man when I was a kid.”

 

“I’m not exactly a young man anymore.”

 

“Oi.” Aiba feigned indignation. “Aren’t we the same age? And I _am_ young.” Sho chuckled again, and Aiba felt better for having cleared the air. “Oh, that reminds me, will your family be joining you later, Sakurai-san?”

 

The gardeners head tilted. “Family?”

 

“Your wife or girlfriend? A brother or boyfriend who lives with you, anything like that? Koyama lived there with his wife until she got sick and moved in with their daughter six years ago. You’re not bringing anyone into the cottage with you?”

 

Sakurai shook his head. “Nope. Nothing like that.” He replied simply, Aiba was pleased to see that he didn’t appear to mind the question. “It’s just me.”

 

“I see. That’s good then.”

 

“Good?”

 

Masaki nearly jumped out of his skin with worry until he saw that Sho was smiling, clearly teasing him for his propensity for putting his foot in his mouth. “Ah, well, not _good_ , as in _good,_ you know. Good, as in, not _bad_ , I guess. But uh… if you did want to…. I mean, the cottage is all yours, so if you did have someone you wanted to… ah, the other staff are pretty discreet. You wouldn’t need to… um...oh-”

 

Finally, mercifully, the gardener pulled Aiba out of the hole he dug. “I get it. Thanks.” He was trying to hide his amusement behind his hand, but his eyes gave him away. When he moved his hand, his expression carefully neutral, Masaki gasped. Laughter spilled from him in bursts of mirth that left Sakurai confused, or mildly concerned.

 

“Your face!” Aiba pointed, with absolutely no sign of the manners he was raised with. “You’ve got soil all over your face.” The streak on his forehead had been cute and endearing, and had gone unremarked because Aiba was busy with more important topics, but now Sakurai had smudges over his lips, he just looked silly.

 

“What? Where?”

 

Aiba, still barely containing his laughter, pointed at the corresponding spots on his own face for reference. “Up there, and there.”

 

Sakurai tried to wipe at the spots with the sleeve of his t-shirt, but with little success getting his face on his own shoulder. The sight of him trying just amused Masaki more; he was practically doubled over before Sakurai gave up with a last shrug.

 

Aiba took pity on him then. “Oh, here, I’ll do it.” He pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket as he closed the gap between them in a few long strides. He wiped at Sakurai’s brow first, the dirt lifting easily where the sweat had already lifted it away from his skin. But then the square of fabric was damp and dirty, and in no condition to put to anyone’s mouth, so he used the hand it was in to lift Sho’s chin and rubbed at the smear with the pad of his thumb instead.

 

It took a few beats to realise what he’d done. A few seconds where neither of them moved or dared to breathe until their eyes met and Aiba jumped away. “Eww, sorry, that was gross. Like a mom cleaning her kid, right?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“At least I didn’t lick my finger first right? How disgusting would that be?” Aiba decided he needed to get out of there before he said or did anything else he might regret, so he handed over the handkerchief, made his excuses and left quickly after that.

 

All the way back to the house, he tried to make sense of what had just happened. He really had not intended anything untoward, but there was no denying that once his finger had learned the feel of those soft, full lips, Masaki had wanted to learn more. He wanted to explore the shape of Sho's mouth with his own, to sample the taste of him under his tongue. Too much and too soon and far too forceful a feeling even under normal circumstances, but these were not normal circumstances. Sakurai Sho was employed by his family to take care of the grounds around the property, and Aiba had no business putting the gardener in any more unfortunate situations.

 

He just needed to put a bit of distance between himself and Sakurai until his attraction faded some. It shouldn't be very difficult; he barely saw much of anyone when he really threw himself into his work.

 

*

 

Sakurai remained in the greenhouse until he had finished counting how many of the glass panels needed replacing, and had taken stock of the vegetation that had been left to grow wild and then wither in there. By the time he was done, he’d mopped at his brow so much with the borrowed handkerchief that there wasn’t a thread left not soaked in perspiration or covered in dirt. He’d have to wash it before he returned it anyway, he figured, as he tucked it into his pocket and headed home.  
  
Sakurai spent most of his post-work shower thinking about Aiba. About how the man had come to find him right away, rather than have Sakurai make an appointment  -- rather than wait to see Sakurai at all. He’d felt Aiba’s eyes on him the moment he’d turned to face him, and Sakurai didn’t mind. It happened a lot, in his line of work; the gentile offspring of the upper classes would develop a crush. Sometimes it was the novelty of spending time with someone of a different background that drew his admirers. Sometimes it was thrill of rebelling against what was socially acceptable for them and scandalising their parents in the process. Sakurai never acted on their attempts to tumble in the bushes, but he enjoyed the company the former type provided and was entertained by the attempts of the latter.

 

What type then, was Aiba? Sakurai wondered. It seemed unlikely that he would be looking to sow any wild oats at his age, or rebel against expectations, but then, Sho’s former colleagues had explained that Masaki was more interested in science than high society. It made a certain amount of sense that he’d be interested in getting to know someone who might have a different world view to the people around him. Not that Aiba seemed to spend much time socialising.

 

Nakayama had already made him aware that morning that Masaki rarely attended functions that would normally expect the presence of an eldest son, but he never missed a family birthday or celebratory event. And that every summer, when the entire Tokyo branch of the Aiba family tree spent two weeks vacationing together in the Chiba house, Masaki would let the dust collect in his lab. In general, however, the list of regular guests was a short one.

 

“Doesn’t he get lonely?” Sakurai had asked that morning, thinking about a guy his age, rattling around such a big empty house with only a few aging members of staff for company.

 

The maid hadn’t replied.

 

Most of his evening was given to thinking about this situation. Flicking through old sketches of how the grounds had looked in years past, but not really seeing anything, a new idea struck him, forcing him to smile. There was always the possibility that, with Masaki so secluded here, any warm body with a pulse was enough to get him going. The thought amused Sho, though it would certainly dent his ego a little if it was true; Aiba Masaki was utterly gorgeous, and it had boosted his own mood seeing the man get nervous and tongue tied at first.

 

He dressed for bed still thinking about the feel of Aiba’s hands stroking over his face, the feel of the heat that had rolled off him when he stepped so close and made Sakurai look up to meet his eyes before caressing his lips. And whatever else it was - whatever excuses Masaki made for it when he jumped away - it _had_ been a caress. It had surprised Sho by how sudden it was, and by how much Aiba’s retreat bothered him.

 

Sakurai made it a rule not to _encourage_ the flights of fancy of the socialites who turned their eyes on him, so he should have welcomed Aiba’s quick deflection. After all, it’s what he would have done, under the same circumstances. If some rich daughter had overstepped before he could have avoided it, Sakurai would have laughed it off, would have kept things strictly platonic on his end. With Masaki though, Sakurai didn’t want to erase the promise of that moment. It was much more exciting to think about the possibilities of where it might lead.

 

So he thought about those possibilities anyway, letting the images he conjured chase him to sleep.

 

Sakurai worked on the areas close to the house over the next few days, wondering if Aiba might approach him as he worked again, but Sho did not see the other man at all. He focused on clearing the grounds ready for planting, but with spring rapidly approaching, he knew he would have to work quickly to bring some order to the landscaping. He would need to hire additional help if he had any hope making significant progress, but the budget did not list seasonal part-time workers as an expected expense. He would need to ask the accountant, and he needed to do it before he’d even finished drafting his plans for Aiba’s approval.

 

It was something he was hesitant to do; it didn’t sit well with him to ask for something when he wasn’t sure himself what the end result was supposed to be. It was harder still because he would essentially be asking that the Aiba family invest more of their money than they had intended into something not just unpredictable, but completely unknowable at that point. Besides, Masaki had said the Accountant himself was scary.

 

With that in mind, he decided to discuss it with Aiba first. If Masaki shot him down immediately, that would be the end of it, but if Sakurai could get Aiba’s backing first, he would be willing to argue his case, no matter how tight fisted the family Accountants were.

 

He waited until after he had finished the outdoor work for the day, and entered the main house after changing into clean casual clothes. Nakayama had shown him which room on the second floor contained Aiba’s self-styled lab, but that was days ago, and he got lost twice before he found the right door and knocked quietly.  

 

“Naya-san? Come on in.”

 

“It’s Sakurai,” he pushed the door gently, correcting his employer as he did so.

 

Aiba had been sitting upright in his chair, his pen flying over the notepad in front of him, the thick black frames of his glasses sliding down his nose as he worked. He looked somber and fixated on his task; the laugh lines and dimples missing without an expression to bend to. It was only a glimpse though, a fleeting picture that Sakurai spied right before he announced himself.

 

At the sound of his voice, Aiba had dropped his pen and greeted Sakurai with a startled smile. He fumbled the glasses off entirely. “Sorry, I was expecting-”

 

“Naya-san, right? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt when you’re expecting company.” He hovered near the entrance, unsure if he was welcome.

 

“Oh, no, no, it’s fine. Naya-san is Nakayama-san. It’s about the time she usually comes with lunch.” Aiba half rose from his seat, his arm sweeping between Sho and the armchair further in the room. “Come in.” The chair wasn’t in front of Aiba’s desk, it was practically beside it, pushed back and angled as if the person who usually occupied it was used to working in the same space. “I have nicknames for all of the staff here.” He added as Sakurai walked over and sat down.

 

“I see. Well, if you have a moment: it’s about the garden budget.” the groundskeeper began carefully.

 

Aiba’s expression changed to one of distaste as soon as Sakurai mentioned the topic. “Is something wrong with it?” He was cringing, but he didn’t actually sound concerned.

 

Sho wasn’t sure how much of a preamble he needed, so he launched into a full and thorough explanation. “I’m sure you realise that there is a lot of land here that is in need of maintenance. Even if it wasn’t starting from its current state, it would be too much work just for myself in other seasons. I checked the budgets going back two years, and there weren’t any part-timers hired to help Koyama-san at all. I just thought…. If I’m going to do a good job, I need to be able to hire more people who can weed and mow and plant when the grass starts growing four centimetres in a week.”

 

“You’re asking for staff?” Masaki started to search his desk for something, lifting open textbooks, pulling open a drawer and rifling inside it as he spoke. “Staffing costs aren’t included in the gardening budget. I don’t really know how it does break down, but Shige-chan can tell you. I’ve got his card here _somewhere…_.” With a shout of triumph, Aiba found the business card hidden under a pile of loose papers on his desk, and handed it straight over.

 

Sakurai read the card. _Ikkaku Senkin Accountancy_ was embossed in gold script along the top, and underneath that the name, _Kato Shigeaki_ ,followed by the relevant phone numbers, fax numbers and email addresses to contact the Accountant. “It won’t be a problem then, do you think?”

 

Aiba shrugged, palms facing upwards in a gesture of cluelessness. “It was never a problem before. Ken-jiji just got all grumpy about people not doing things the way he wanted in his last few months.”

 

It didn’t take much for Sakurai to figure out that Ken-jiji was probably Koyama Kenji; 92-years-old at the time of his eventual retirement in August last year. If he had eschewed help for much of the summer months, it was little wonder that the grounds had grown wild before winter had set in. “Did you spend much time in the gardens before?” Sakurai couldn’t resist the urge to ask. Aiba had used the nickname with such affection, that it seemed obvious that Aiba had liked the old man.

 

“Not so much recently.” Aiba admitted, his gaze turning wistful. “But when I was a kid, there was this old gazebo down by the west lake, and it had all these really tall rose bushes growing around it. It was like a den made out of flowers looking over the water, and was my favourite place to play whenever we came to stay in the summer. I even helped the old man give it a fresh coat of paint one year but when I came back the next year, it was gone.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“It was just old and too damaged by a typhoon to fix safely. I didn’t really get it at the time though. I didn’t talk to Ken-jiji for the first week of that vacation.”

 

Sho pictured a young Masaki, heartbroken by the loss of a treasured space. “It must have been tough for Koyama-san too.” He noted, imagining himself in the former groundskeeper’s place. “To have an upset little boy and no way to cheer him up.”

 

“Well, I was fifteen.” Aiba grinned, “But I think he was worried; his wife came and talked some sense into me.”

 

“Fifteen?” He wasn’t mocking his employer, he really wasn’t, it was just so surprising that Sakurai had trouble picturing it.

 

At least Masaki didn’t appear to take offence. In fact he seemed almost proud as he explained that he refused to return to Tokyo with the rest of the family that year. How he had convinced his parents to allow him to stay. “We lived here first, you know, before Yusuke was born and we moved to Tokyo. So coming to Chiba always felt like coming home, and after that year, I didn’t want it to change while I wasn’t looking.”

 

“At fifteen though?” Sakurai was a little awestruck by what he was learning about the eldest Aiba son. “What about school? What about friends?”

 

“I had tutors, of course.” Aiba replied, like it was the most obvious answer; perhaps for a family of their vast fortune, it was. “And I go out to see my friends and they visit me. Besides the staff are always around.”

 

The same staff, Sho recalled, that had remained completely unchanged for at least three decades. Until he came along. “So how long would I have to work for you to earn a nickname?” He joked. “You said you had them for all of the staff. Or is mine something you can’t repeat to my face?”

 

Aiba seemed to enjoy being teased, falling back in his chair to chortle at Sho’s attempt at humor. “Most of the staff were around before I could talk, and whatever I called them at two just stuck. I’m pretty sure I’d have been able to pronounce ‘Sho’ even back then.”

 

“Maybe.” Sakurai agreed. “But you don’t call me that.”

 

“I-” Aiba paused, cautious. “You call me Aiba-san though. It would be rude if I just called you by your first name suddenly.”  

 

“You’d rather I didn’t use Aiba-san?”

 

“Isn’t that what you call my parents? Probably Yusuke too, right? Plus, the first time you used it with me, you were quite mad, so now….”

 

Sakurai squeezed his eyes shut behind one hand. “You’re never going to let me forget that are you?” he groaned.

 

“Well, _I_  am never going to forget it.” He assured Sakurai.

 

“Wonderful. What would you rather I use? Would you prefer Aiba-sama?”

 

Masaki looked horrified. “Oh please, no. My friends call me Aiba-chan. Mostly.”

 

“Your friends?”

 

“Yeah, we’re friends right? I mean, we’re the same age and everything.” He pointed out, his smile growing bigger and more animated as he invented reasons as to why it should be completely normal for a newly-arrived lawn jockey to be totally casual with his millionaire academic employer. “We’re the only young guys here, so it’d be more awkward if we weren’t friends, right Sho-chan?”

 

“Ah, ah, uh, yeah OK.” Sakurai nodded along, a little confused by what he’d just been steamrolled into, but not unhappy about the unexpected turn of events. The final syllable had barely left his mouth before there was a fresh knock on the door and the maid came in carrying Aiba’s lunch.

 

Aiba took the tray gratefully while Sakurai got up, and thanked Aiba for his time.

 

“No problem. Ah, thank you Naya-san.” He beamed as Sho headed for the door. “Maybe I’ll take a walk through the gardens sometime, Sho-chan, and you can tell me a bit about what needs doing.”

 

*

 

When Aiba went to find Sakurai in the garden as promised, days later, he had no idea where to begin to look. Sho had completed whatever task it was that kept him in line of sight from Aiba’s laboratory window, and moved on to work elsewhere presumably. In his search he ran into every other member of staff working that day -- which only amounted to four people -- none of whom could tell him where Sakurai was likely to be.

 

Wandering the grounds of his home aimlessly, looking for the attractive gardener for no reason other than a bit of light chit-chat wasn’t the best use of his time. Aiba had nothing better to do that morning though; his most recent line of experiments required a lot of down time and leaving things alone to observe the results, and it would be hours before Nino arrived to keep him company. Besides, since their conversation in his lab, he and Sakurai had exchanged a few words every time they passed each other, and Aiba found he liked Sho’s company.

 

He still thought the man was sinfully attractive, but Sakurai was also quick with a joke, intelligent and hardworking. He had so much in common with the people that Aiba considered his friends already, it was only natural that he should group them together in his mind.

 

Masaki had covered pretty much every bit of space he owned before it occurred to him to knock on the door to Sakurai’s cottage.

 

Sakurai, dressed in blue acid wash jeans and a cream cable knit sweater looked like he hadn’t stepped foot in the garden all day. “Aiba-san?” He stood at the door, pulling it open fully and inviting Aiba in with the gesture.

 

“Oh, is it your day off?” Aiba blanched; he knew the work schedules of all the regular staff, but in his earlier effort to avoid Sakurai, had not bothered to learn his. “I didn’t mean to disturb your personal time.”

 

The man laughed. “I never take Mondays off.” He assured Aiba then, as he returned to a stack of files and ledgers he had fanned out across the kitchen table. “I was just cross referencing previous layouts and growth patterns to get a better idea of what I can expect to be working with when Spring arrives. I’ve got to plan for summer too, and seeing what plants grew where and how they fared in previous seasons will help me decide how to plant for that.”

 

Aiba took in the various charts, the sketched blueprints and the annotated lists of latin names, his own scientific mind familiar with a similar kind of clutter. “There’s a lot to think about. You’re practically a botanist.”

 

“Not really. I’ll leave the science to you.”

 

Sakurai waited then, and it took Aiba a moment to realise that Sho was waiting for him to say why he had come. “Oh, right. Well, it’s good timing then, because I was going to ask what you had planned for the garden.”

 

“Would you like to take a seat at the table, and I can explain a bit?” The gardener suggested politely. When Aiba agreed, Sakurai pulled up a chair beside him and began pointing out the corresponding bits of paper as he went. “I spoke to Kato Shigeaki-san already, who pre-approved the budget, but the plans aren’t complete yet. From what I can gather, the gardens here have changed a lot over the years?”

 

Sakurai was leaning nearly over his lap to reach a large picture of how the grounds had looked when Aiba had been a small boy. He held his breath and tried not to move until Sakurai had straightened up. “Now that you mention it, I suppose that’s true.”

 

“I want to figure out what worked best over the years and apply it to my plan for the landscaping. I kind of want to add a water feature too, over by the lake; one you’ll be able to see from the North roof patio.”

 

Aiba nodded along. Sakurai made it sound so much like a science project that he actually started getting excited about watching things progress. “There’s a lot more to this than just digging up dirt and putting seeds in the ground, huh?”

 

“Mhm…” Aiba saw the way Sakurai reacted then, how his jaw pulled tight and his expression collapsed into something so carefully neutral. “Thanks, I think.”

 

Masaki flinched. “Oh, I just meant- I mean, I didn’t know there was so much _thinking_ involved.”

 

“You’re surprised that I _think_?” He was frowning now, arms folding over his chest.

 

“No, no. I know you have to think about it, but the amount of paperwork, you know? There’s so much… Umm… it’s so much more….” He was sweating, he could feel it clinging to him unpleasantly. He squirmed, going silent, and all the time Sakurai never took his eyes off him.

 

Then Sakurai smirked. “It’s not all digging holes, Aiba-chan. If it was, you wouldn’t need my help, clearly.”

 

Relief flooded through him. “Sho-chan, you’re awful.” he retaliated with a weak shove at Sakurai’s shoulder.

 

The gardener didn’t even apologise. “I like the organised chaos of it.” he said. “Of planning and growing a garden. Different things grow in different seasons and at different times. Some things bloom once a year, twice or even last all year. And you have to think about all of that if you want a garden to flower and look good no matter what season it is. It’s a complicated schedule and I have to take into account weather conditions, soil types and ecological balance. Then, while I’m doing all that, nature is happening anyway, and things grow the way they want, and not the way I predict. I like that.”

 

“I should have expected no less of a great groundskeeper like yourself.” Aiba nodded sagely. “After all, I only hire the best.”

 

“Well, technically, your father hired me.” Sakurai pointed out. “But I suppose it doesn’t make much of a difference now I’m here.”

 

“I would have hired you.” Aiba grinned, recalling how he had neglected to even look for a replacement in the run up to Koyama’s retirement. “But I think you already had a job in Tokyo.” Privately, Aiba had never been so glad for his mother’s meddling in the running of the house. “Although I suppose I could have poached you.”

 

Sho sat back in his chair like he was putting real thought into what Aiba had said. “I wonder how I would have done if my interview had been with you?” He mused, thumb drumming thoughtfully just at his chin.

 

“I’d have hired you on the spot.”

 

“Why?”

 

Aiba didn’t need to pause to think. “So I didn’t have to interview anyone else. I don’t want to tell anyone they’re not good enough for something.”

 

Silence met Aiba’s confession at first, Sakurai looking a little taken aback by his answer. “That sort of thinking could get you in trouble.” He noted, “If the person isn’t suited for the job. But it’s better than some of the alternative reasons people get hired without proper vetting, I suppose.”  

 

“Well, anyway, I like the sound of what you have in mind for the gardens. I guess, when you get started, it’s going to be even harder to track you down though.” Masaki imagined all the unused spaces that had not been tended for years; the far flung corners of the estate that Sakurai might vanish into for days. “....I should get us walkie-talkies.”  He added in a flash of inspiration.

 

“Sorry, what?”

 

Aiba didn’t think his train of thought was _that_ hard to follow; it didn’t warrant Sho’s exaggerated expression of confusion, surely? “You know, in case I have some important… flower... stuff... to talk to you about, but I don’t know what part of the garden you are.” He explained himself very clearly anyway. “Walkie-talkies would let me check where you are.”

 

Sakurai’s mouth pulled into a tight line as he was clearly trying to hold in a smile. “Or.” The suggestion came slowly, his tone threatening to break into outright laughter. “You could call my phone.”

 

“Oh. right. But I don’t have your number.”

 

Sakurai pulled the stack of post-it notes closer and scribbled numbers across the paper quickly. “Here.” He peeled off the post-it and patted it to Aiba’s bicep squeezing a little to make sure it stuck. “I don’t take personal calls while I’m working, but if it’s from you, I’ll have to answer, right?”

 

Masaki nodded. “Right.”

 

Aiba spent the hours after his visit with Sakurai getting absolutely no work done. He had saved Sakurai’s number into his own phone as soon as he was back at his desk, and sent him a message so that Sho would be able to reciprocate. Although it had taken him twenty minutes and eight different drafts to come up with: **I’m looking forward to how the garden turns out!** He added several flower emojis and a smiling face.

 

Sakurai’s response had been immediate: **I hope I don’t disappoint you then.**

 

He snorted out loud at the unlikeliness of that. **Impossible.** He typed quickly. The conversation hadn’t gone beyond that, but Aiba had been checking the screen and re-reading Sakurai’s message every time he picked it up. And even though the time flashed at him whenever he tapped the device to life, Aiba completely lost track of time until Nino waltzed into his lab without so much as a cursory knock.

 

Ninomiya was Aiba’s oldest friend and his second most frequent visitor; a difficult metric to measure, given how Nino disliked going to other people. The small, sharp tongued heir preferred it when people came to him at his bidding. Aiba did not object to that actually; Nino could make anything more fun than it sounded, but Nino never rejected Aiba’s invites either.

 

Aiba had asked him to come to witness the results of his latest experiments; a semi-regular occurrence since Masaki had gotten bored with theoretical science and had started designing experiments for fun. They were silly, with little to no academic value, but it was a bit of fun when he needed a distraction. Nino too, knew how Aiba valued a good distraction, and had found a long white lab coat from somewhere, his smaller frame swamped by the white coat meant to fit Aiba.

 

“Do you have a clipboard?” He never bothered greeting Aiba properly unless they were in public. “I feel like I should be making notes on a clipboard.”

 

Aiba’s glee felt like it might burst from him. “You’re here. We should start with the shortcake on the balcony.”

 

Nino accepted the hardback notebook Aiba offered in lieu of a clipboard and Aiba set to work observing his results, with his best friend mocking every questionable conclusion he came to. It was a great way to spend a few hours before Nino had to travel up north for ten days so he could golf with some of his father’s friends and smooth talk his way into some land-grab he was planning.

 

The shortcake, it turned out, had been discovered by Nakayama and returned to the kitchen within minutes of being placed, and Nino _suggested_ that, in future, Aiba should tell the staff about his experiments beforehand. Other items had had much more dramatic showings however, although he doubted he’d ever be able to convince anyone to try the dried out cotton candy like he had wanted Nino to.

 

“Are you trying to kill me?” Nino slapped Aiba’s hand away from where it hovered dangerously close with the wooden stick shaking near his lips.

 

“Aw, c’mon, I know you don’t usually like sweet things--”

 

“That is so not my issue right now.”

 

“It’s for science. _Science_.”

 

“Then eat it yourself!”

 

Aiba contemplated the small web of crusty cotton candy clinging to the stick. He considered it, he really did. “I suppose it’s enough to note the visual changes with this.” he concluded at length. Nino shoved at him for the attempt on his life.

 

“You’ve got to stop abusing food this way Aiba-chan.” Nino said later, when Aiba took the lid off a pot of vinegar which contained the remains of a snow crab. He had his whole arm thrown across his face; his nose buried in his elbow to stifle the odour. “This whole room stinks now.”

 

Aiba couldn’t disagree. He put the lid back on once he was done poking at the softened shell. “Uhgh…” He wiped at his nose like he might dislodge the smell. “You think it’ll linger?”

 

“Definitely.”

 

He frowned. “I don’t like to ask Naya-san to clean in here.” Ninomiya didn’t need to be reminded about that, but Aiba couldn’t think of any other way to fix his error, and anywhere Nakayama cleaned smelled great for days.

 

“Cleaning isn’t going to help except cover the stink with something else. You might as well do that yourself with _potpourri_ and bouquets of flowers.”

 

Aiba did not want to admit that he had no idea what _potpourri_ was, so he questioned Nino’s second example instead. “Flowers?”

 

“Yeah. you know what flowers are, right? There’s lots of kinds, and some of them smell nice. So if you put them in here, it might stop smelling like pickled crab after a while.”

 

Normally, Aiba might have made something of Nino implying that he didn’t know what a flower was, but his mind had already skipped ahead. “Maybe he can give me some recommendations….”

 

“He, who?” Nino never liked not knowing what was happening in Aiba’s life.

 

“Sakurai Sho-kun. He’s my new Gardener.”

 

Nino had known Koyama, and had known when he’d left, and he knew how unmotivated Aiba had been about hiring someone else. Aiba could see Nino process the information; they’d known each other for so long, Aiba felt like he could sometimes tell what Nino was thinking. In that moment, Nino was wondering how Aiba had made such a monumental decision without his input.

 

“My parents sent him from Tokyo.” Masaki answered a question yet to be asked.

 

Ninomiya understood straight away, and took the opportunity to mock his friend for needing his parents to do things for him. He wondered whether Aiba still needed his mother to pick out his clothes too, which Aiba had to argue against. Masaki refused to have his very personal fashion sense questioned by Ninomiya ‘If it’s free, it’s fashion’ Kazunari. Admittedly, Nino looked good even when he lounged around his house in his middle school gym clothes, but that said more about how he modelled the clothes, than the rags themselves. As a matter of fact, Aiba would trust his mother’s judgement on his outfits long before he would trust Nino’s, he pointed out.

 

“If you trust your mother’s taste, why haven’t you gone to meet any of the potential marriage partners she’s been sending your way for months?” Nino asked slyly. He was always so smug when he sensed he was about to win an argument.

 

“Oi. My mother can pick who makes my bed, but not who is in it, OK?”

 

Nino’s eyebrows quirked suggestively. “Or who gets to plough your field?”

 

Aiba was aware that Nino was just teasing him, that the lewd insinuation wasn’t meant seriously, but the double entendre put an image in his head that turned Aiba’s laughter into a whine. “Don’t say stuff like that.” He begged, smiling, and trying to hide his face behind his hands. “I don’t want to think about my mother and Sho-chan in the same...er….thought…”

 

Nino rolled his eyes. “Oh, has your mother been lusting after her gardener? Did your dad send the old guy here to protect his marriage?”

 

“Ew. Nino that’s gross. And Sho-chan isn’t _old_.” He had to tell Nino all about Sakurai then, just to prove Nino wrong and wipe the smirk of his face. Aiba went to great lengths to describe how impressed he was with Sakurai; how the groundskeeper was already making headway in the garden, and how Nino should meet him because they would definitely get along.

 

“Aiba-chan-” He’s been talking pretty much nonstop, and Nino had been repeating his name to try to wedge his way into the conversation. “Aiba-chan-” It was just that Masaki had so much to say, and he didn’t want to forget a detail. “AIBA!”

 

He paused. “Yeah?”

 

“It’s starting to sound like you’re the one lusting after the gardener.”

 

“That’s what I’m telling you Nino-chan.” Aiba wasn’t hiding anything. “He’s gorgeous!”

 

Aiba had never seen anyone pull back from a statement quite the way Ninomiya did then. The friendly joking expression fell away in an instant, turning horrified. “No. No no no no. _Stop_. Please tell me you haven’t been sowing any wild oats with the groundskeeper.”

 

“Of course not.” Aiba assured him. “He only just got here.”

 

Nino clapped his hands over his ears. “Oh, my God, shut up. You _absolutely_ can’t go rolling in the grass with someone on the payroll.”

 

“That’s rude Nino.”

 

“No, yeah. You’re right.” Ninomiya conceded, settling slightly to chat in more conversational tones. “They’re your _employees_ , after all. No matter whether they’ve worked here thirty years or three days. You need to remember that too.”

 

“I-”

 

“Listen, you’re a friendly guy, and you’ve always been close to your family staff, but there are lines you can’t cross. You have too much to lose if you earn a reputation for _that_ sort of behaviour.”

 

Aiba took exception to Nino’s implication. “I’m not going to- I wouldn’t do anything if he wasn’t-”

 

Nino didn’t even let him finish his thought. “Oh yeah? You’re his _boss_ , Aiba-chan. How’s he going to say no, exactly? Remember Jun-kun’s situation?” The last point was a stab to Aiba’s gut. “Can you imagine what he would have to say if he found out?”

 

Aiba drew a breath to argue back, and let it go without a fight. Matsumoto Jun was a close friend who grew up in the same circles as he and Nino. But Jun had faced more hardship than most of their peers, because although he was the only heir to the illustrious Matsumoto family, he was also his family’s greatest shame: Born to his father by an affair with one of the maids, and adopted by his wife in exchange for sending her away, Jun had very firm opinions on the abuses of power that ran rife in high society.

 

But it wasn’t the same, was it? Aiba tried to think back, flashes of conversation he’d shared with Sakurai bursting through his fog of thoughts. Suddenly he wasn’t so sure that Sakurai had been responding favourably to his friendly approach, or responding in a way he felt he had to. He remembered what Sho had said about taking phone calls:  

 

_[“I don’t take personal calls while I’m working, but if it’s from you, I’ll have to answer, right?”]_

 

Of course, phone calls from Aiba wouldn’t be ‘personal’ calls for Sakurai Sho. For the gardener, getting a call of the man with the ability to fire him would always be a work matter.

 

Aiba’s happy excitement withered as his new understanding of his situation took hold. He could feel Nino’s pitying gaze so strongly that Aiba couldn’t bear to actually meet his eyes for a moment. “You’re right.” He nodded, looking everywhere but at Nino until his vision cleared a little. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” He laughed hollowly as his own foolishness. “How embarrassing.”

 

Ninomiya would deny it if pressed, but he was kinder than most people knew. “You’ve just been cooped up too long Ma-kun.” He returned to the teasing tone of earlier, lifting the sudden heavy atmosphere of the room. “We’re taking you out as soon as the three of us can match our schedules.”

 

“That might take a while.” Aiba noted with a watery smile. He could pretend his sniffle was down to dust.

 

“Then it’ll take a while.” Nino shrugged. “In the meantime, I won’t reveal your momentary lapse of judgement to Jun-kun, and you can start opening the emails your mother sends if you’re _that_ hard up.”

 

“...Nino-”

 

“Right now though, I’m hungry.”

 

That brought Aiba’s megawatt smile back in full force. “Oh good! I’ve been cooking Hotpot for you.”

 

“You’ve been _cooking_?”

 

“Yep. Come with me; it’s been in the sauna since yesterday.”

 

-

 

The amount of filing and form filling required to begin the process of hiring part-time help was time-consuming in itself, and Sakurai spent a lot of the next weeks going between municipal offices and employment agencies. His suit had never seen so much consecutive wear. Still unfamiliar with the local area he stopped into the main house to ask Miho where he could get his suit properly cleaned. He only wanted directions to the nearest dry cleaners, but the grandmotherly woman was surprisingly forceful when she wrestled the bundle from him and insisted that she would take care of it.

 

Sakurai tried to refuse; Nakayama already dealt with so much, and she wasn’t working for _him_ after all.

 

The housekeeper seemed to find his protests endearing, but not worth listening to. “Sakurai-kun, I haven’t done laundry myself since I put my back out two years ago. Aiba-kun brought in a service that collects all of his clothes fortnightly and delivers a week later. If you need anything urgently, I can mark it as such?”

 

“Huh? But- that’s for Aiba-san’s things, I couldn’t-”

 

“Nonsense. I have always sent the staff uniforms along with the young master’s things. Your suit is no different from Kenji-san’s muddy old overalls.”

 

Working for Aiba Masaki, Sho was learning, came with a myriad of unexpected perks. What it didn’t come with, much to his growing disappointment, was much time with the man himself. Aiba was often out, shopping or drinking with friends according to the other staff and if Masaki was home, he spent most of his hours in his lab, even when he had visitors. Back in Tokyo, he might not have noticed such a thing, but with such a small pool of staff, and living on site just far away enough from his city friends to be inconvenient, Sakurai was finding himself with too much free time.

 

He had always preferred to keep busy, even during his non-working hours, but he was finding it difficult to adjust, despite how hospitable the Chiba residence was, on the whole. He had picked up a few guide books and restaurant review magazines on his last trip to the municipal ward office, and already exhausted the useful information from them, with little to show for it. It seemed like the next natural step to ask the locals for their recommendations.

 

He put his question to Nakayama first; the old lady had lived her whole life in the nearby area and had just welcomed a fourth generation into her family recently, except she tended to focus on places that used to exist, but were no longer there. Sakurai understood her nostalgia, but couldn’t share it; it seemed pointless to visit an apartment block that used to be a field with a climbing tree. The housekeeper sighed. “Of course, we have a great many books on Chiba, maybe you would get more useful information from them?”

 

“I did check through books in the drawing room.” Sakurai thought it was a bit disingenuous to call the room with rows upon rows of curated reading material anything except a library, but he wasn’t going to argue with accepted convention. “I didn’t find much about the local area sadly.”

 

“That’ll be because Aiba-san keeps them with the books in his lab. I’m sure if you ask, the young master will show you where.”

 

Sakurai thanked the woman for her input and left his suit in her care while he went directly to Aiba’s lab. Honestly, he was glad to have a reason to knock on Aiba’s door again; the last time had been so illuminating. It was almost disappointing that the household seemed to run so well that their employer hardly needed to emerge. Sho had hoped, after Aiba had taken his number, that the tall, handsome scion might have had more to say to him. The man had implied as much, Sakurai had thought at the time, but as the days passed by, and Sakurai saw little of Aiba and heard from him less, doubt crept in.

 

Maybe he’d been having a little too much fun by himself, imagining that Masaki was afflicted like the naive young heiresses or well-to-do daughters had been. The eldest Aiba son was hardly some inexperienced youth with rose-tinted vision coloured by unrealistic daytime dramas. Masaki wasn’t looking to stage a little rebellion against the family he loved so much; if anything, any interest in Sakurai would likely be seen more as a mid-life crisis than some grand romance.   
  
It was the differences that had Sakurai responding differently, he told himself. He didn’t think anything would come of the fact that Masaki apparently enjoyed what he saw in Sho, but it was the first time Sakurai had ever wanted to freely enjoy the attention. Aiba was good-looking and charming, funny and smooth in equal measure -- and for once -- neither shockingly too young or too female for his tastes. In fact, if Masaki wasn’t responsible for his paychecks, he’d have been just Sho’s type.

 

He was at Aiba’s door, thinking in circles, just trying to justify why he was eager to see his boss again, and delaying the inevitable in the process. He knocked.

 

When he entered, at Aiba’s muffled invitation, the man was again at his desk, his fingers splayed over the keyboard in front of him as he continued to type. Masaki looked over the frames of the glasses that had slid down his nose to acknowledge Sakurai, but he didn’t stop right away. “Just a moment, Sho-kun,” he went back to the screen, finishing some thought and saving the document before he turned that focused attention directly on Sakurai.

 

Sho apologised for the interruption - which Aiba dismissed immediately - and explained that the housekeeper had suggested that Sho would find books on Chiba in the lab.

 

“You’re doing some research on Chiba?” Aiba asked.

 

“Just a little.” Sakurai made his way fully into the room as he spoke, angled towards the nearest bookcase, which took up the wall behind Aiba’s desk. “I don’t know much about the area, so I don’t really know what to do with my days off right now. I thought…”

 

Aiba jumped out of his chair like he’d been ejected from it. “I’ve got lots of books on Chiba.” He started pulling books out, stacking them into his arms, and barely looking at their titles as he did so. “Oh, this one is a great book because it’s a bunch of local legends tied to places you can visit. This one lists shops that have more than 100 years of history.”

 

He didn’t outline every book he selected, but he hurried through a quick breakdown of most, talking so quickly he could barely keep the words straight. Sakurai was already feeling the information overload when Masaki handed over the considerable pile. “Umm…”

 

Aiba blinked. He finally seemed to notice that he might have overdone it. “Too much?”

 

Aiba had been so animated, and clearly loved his hometown so much, that Sakurai didn’t want to dampen his enthusiasm. “It’s fine. Uh, what would you recommend just for today?”

 

He could see the concentration on Masaki’s face; he was so easy to read. He was obviously weighing up his options and trying to pick which tome would be the most appropriate to meet Sho’s needs. He was so transparently conflicted, that Sho began to feel bad about asking the question in the first place. He was moments away from retracting his request when Aiba visibly made up his mind. His advice was nothing Sho had expected to hear.

 

“Why don’t I show you?”

 

“Pardon?” Sakurai remembered his manners just in time to avoid standing there with his mouth hanging open.

 

“There’s lots of great places that aren’t in books.” Masaki went on. “So, if you want, I can take you to some of my favourites today, and you can read up on the others later.”

 

Sakurai couldn’t refuse such a welcome invitation, and soon found himself riding in luxury in the back of a car being chauffeured by the driver, Haru, with Aiba Masaki belted in just inches away. He hadn’t changed before they left, except to remove his glasses and the long white coat to reveal a blue pinstripe shirt and fitted grey trousers. He looked so put together, that Sakurai was much more conscious of his own dire state of dress.

 

He’d thrown on an old pair of jeans with dirt worn into the knees and an embarrassingly old sweater that was so threadbare in places it was nearly transparent, and more grey than the black it used to be. The top, at least, could be hidden by his coat once they were out of the car, but the heated seats made the extra layer impractical during the drive, and Sakurai was glad that most of Aiba’s attention was fixed on things outside the vehicle.

 

As they drove, Aiba would point out places that he thought were interesting to share. In the short ride to their first stop, Sakurai learned which manga cafe Aiba had frequented as a teen, he knew which park had the best swings for jumping from and he heard about the chinese restaurant Aiba and his friends had gotten banned from when they were younger.

 

And in spite of the slew of facts Sho gathered about the area surrounding the Aiba estate, Sho learned much more about the type of person Masaki was from that information. Masaki talked a lot about his friends and the things they got up to together. He talked about how his interest in science was sparked in the kitchen of that chinese restaurant, before he had blown up a burner and it had cost his father a lot of money and goodwill to fix. Sakurai got a sense of just how much Aiba loved his hometown by how he described the people and places that meant something to him. Even they way would casually include Haru in the conversation; reminiscing with the driver about some 5AM burger run they’d made so Aiba could meet Ninomiya at the airport with his favourite food.

 

They pulled up with the sidewalk on Aiba’s side, who let himself out and waited for Sakurai to slide across the seats to join him. Sho wasn’t very graceful as he tried to stuff himself into his coat before he was fully out the door. Haru drove away, leaving them stood on the street, and to Sakurai, it wasn’t entirely clear where Aiba was taking him until he was ushering Sho through the doors of a slick boutique with wide open spacing, bright white lighting and fixtures and rails in bold reds.

 

Sakurai felt like he might dirty the clean, designer lines of the place just by breathing, as he reluctantly followed. Aiba had no such hesitation, of course, he greeted the staff like he belonged there, and sauntered straight past them to begin looking through some of the stylish clothes they had on display.

 

He felt distinctly out of place, but it helped to stand closer to Aiba, to pretend to peruse the selection alongside him. Aiba drew his attention to a shirt with an asymmetric print made to look like a mosaic of blues and purples. “What do you think? It’s nice, right?”

 

“Uh, yeah.” Sakurai searched desperately for something to say. He did actually like the shirt when he looked closely at it; he just knew he wasn’t exactly the normal clientele of this sort of establishment. “I like the gold thread on the collar and the breast pocket.”

 

“Me too. I usually come here with Matsujun, but sometimes he can be so _picky_.” Even as he complained, he was smiling. “He would probably say it was the wrong shade of gold or something….” He paused to reexamine the embroidery critically. “Actually…. It kind of _is_. It’s too brassy -- it would have been nicer if it had more yellow to it.” He left the garment there with a sigh.

 

Sakurai trailed behind Aiba a little more, commenting on the things Aiba picked. Watching the man flit from item to item, sometimes admiring things, sometimes mocking them, took some of the tension out of the situation. Aiba didn’t seem to mind if his voice echoed in the wide space; he dashed from place to place as things caught his eye without concern for how he might appear. He was simply having fun looking at everything on display and his happiness was contagious.

 

Some of the more ridiculous style choices were the most fun, as Masaki would hold them up and they wondered together what kind of occasion would call for a zippered jacket with full fleece sleeves and square panel cut-outs across the torso on the front and back.

 

“Maybe it’s for someone who buys the ¥30000 white tee-shirt we saw, so they can still wear their tee-shirts in winter and make sure everybody knows.” Sho suggested. The garment was the epitome of style over function; a collection of straps holding the structure together. “Or maybe it’s bedwear.”

 

“Bedwear?” Aiba turned the hanger back and forth in his hand so the cuffs twirled outwards. “Oh, you mean because it looks like fetish gear?”

 

The effort not to fall to the floor laughing physically hurt. He wasn’t wrong, but it also wasn’t what Sakurai had meant at all, and he’d said it so plainly that Sakurai was kind of in awe of his brazenness. “I meant, like instead of a kimono futon.” He managed to explain, trying to keep his voice down a little because he didn’t want the staff to hear the turn their conversation had taken. “So you could pull the blankets all the way up to your chin, but have your arms free, and be the same temperature all over.”

 

“Ah, so whoever wears this in bed will be hot all over?” The question was completely innocent, Sho was sure, but his mind came up with its own interpretation and his imagination ran with it. It certainly didn’t help that Aiba held it against his own chest in that moment like he was about to try it on. “I bet it’s great for playing games.”

 

“What?”

 

“I’m buying it.” He declared suddenly. “A gift for Nino’s birthday.” He kept the jacket, spinning on his heel to move on to some other item. “I should get something for Matsujun’s birthday too while I’m here, as it’s not long after Nino’s.”

 

The gardener was just trying to keep his breathing under control. Aiba was a whirlwind of motion and it was hard to tell when he was only playing at obliviousness and when it was sincere. He seemed perfectly innocent in most things, but when he talked about his friends, there was a mischievous glimmer in his eyes: It was as if the world looked different to him when viewed through the lense of certain company he kept.

 

Aiba, having decided he was looking for something for Matsujun, went more slowly after that. Sakurai had not met either of the friends that Aiba named, but the clothes and accessories that Aiba considered on Matsujun’s behalf certainly made an impression. The jacket for Nino was clearly meant to be a fun gift, with no other motive than to make the recipient laugh, but Aiba was much more careful with his next choice. He asked for Sho’s opinion often, but even without the price-tag to worry about, every piece was so far out of Sakurai’s comfort zone, he found it hard to even formulate an opinion.

 

“What do you think is good, Sho-chan?” Aiba asked after a particularly mind-boggling pair of designer shoes -- ones that looked like his grandfather's slippers -- had rendered him speechless.

 

“Uh, I don’t think I’m the person you want to ask about this; I’m not that stylish.”

 

“I liked what you were wearing the other day though.”

 

“The other day?”

 

“When I stopped by the cottage.”

 

Sakurai had to think hard to recall what he had worn that day. “The white sweater?”

 

Aiba nodded. “That one. It was very on trend.”

 

“It’s just a sweater.” Sakurai pointed out. “I didn’t wear it to be trendy, I wore it because it’s winter.” As much as he protested, he was warmed by the compliment nonetheless.

 

“Is the cottage cold?” Aiba’s voice was suddenly full of concern. “If there’s something wrong with the heating or-”

 

“It’s fine.” Sakurai had to interrupt him quickly, he was learning to sense an impending ramble. “Everything works fine. Shouldn’t we get back to picking something out for your friend?”

 

“Oh that? It doesn’t matter now.” Aiba dismissed their previous endeavour easily.

 

“But what about his birthday…?”

 

“I’ve got time; it’s in August.” He shrugged. Sakurai had no time to voice his surprise before Aiba clapped him on the shoulder with one hand and steered him to yet another sparsely filled rack of clothing. “I asked what _you_ think is good. Isn’t there anything you want?”

 

“Uh…. from _here_? Not- not really, no. It’s all a bit…”

 

“Not your style?” Masaki offered helpfully.

 

“Not my _budget_.”  

 

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about _that_. Just pick whatever you like.”

 

Sakurai stopped in his tracks. It sounded like… Did Aiba even understand that what he was suggesting could be misconstrued? He had to check. “...Aiba-san?”

 

Masaki must have realised, based on the way he cringed and hurried to explain. “Me and my friends pay for each others stuff all the time; it’s nothing special.”

 

“This isn’t the sort of… favour... that I can return Aiba-san.” It wasn’t an awkward thing to admit because he was ashamed of his circumstances or because he felt inadequate compared to the wealthy man beside him. No, it was only embarrassing because it was obvious that the mere suggestion that their situation might be confused had made Masaki extremely uncomfortable. Sakurai hadn’t expected the realisation to be quite so gutting.

 

He certainly wasn’t happy with the way Aiba recoiled in horror from him. “I don’t want your f- Uh, I mean, that’s not what I had in mind at all.” It took visible effort for Aiba to calm himself enough to speak evenly. “I was just thinking about birthdays, because I’ve bought birthday presents for all the staff every year since I turned twenty, so I probably owe you a few, right? And since we’re here, I thought you could pick it out yourself.”

 

Sho tried not to sound sullen when he pointed out that he had only been working for the family for a year.

 

“See? Then I’ve missed at least one. When is your birthday anyway?”

 

He almost didn’t want to admit that it had passed just recently. Confessing now that he had spent the thirty-seventh birthday quietly in his new cottage looking at gardening magazines seemed kind of pitiful. “It was in January.”

 

That settled the matter as far as Aiba was concerned, and he made a point of insisting that Sakurai should choose something. He discovered out on that shop floor that trying to talk Aiba out of something he considered a good idea was an impossible task. In the end he picked out a two piece set in a grey and black print, and tried not the think about the fact that the outfit cost a months rent.

 

Purchases made, Sakurai expected to see the car waiting for them outside or for Aiba to call Haru to pick them up, but neither proved true. Instead, Masaki walked him back the way they came to the Chinese restaurant he had been banished from in his youth. “Didn't you say that you were kicked out of here?” He asked nervously when Aiba didn't hesitate at the door.

 

“I was until dad paid for the damage and bought a 70% stake in it. Which was super lucky for me because they have _The best_ mabo tofu in all of Chiba.”

 

“Your father bought more than half a restaurant because you didn't want to be banned for nearly blowing it up?” He was whispering, very aware that the staff would know Aiba's face and may not take kindly to the reminder.

 

Except, just like the shop before, Aiba was warmly welcomed. The head chef came out of the kitchen to greet him with a clap on the back and a smile, his wife affectionately referring to him as Ma-kun and telling him to make himself at home. Their pleasure at seeing him was genuine and mutual; Aiba asked after family members who weren't there, enquired as to the health of the old man and introduced Sakurai very simply as: “This is Sakurai Sho, he's new in town.”

 

The wife fussed for a moment after Aiba chose their table, making sure they ordered drinks and leaving them to ring for her if they needed her again. Aiba watched her walk away with a bemused expression. “Huh. That was weird.”

 

Sho agreed completely. “That was a very...effusive welcome.”

 

“Hm? I mean, usually, if I come here without Nino she grills me for twenty minutes to make sure he’s eating properly. She says I have a duty to make sure he doesn’t starve because I- Well, anyway, dad bought the shares because Nino’s dad was going to buy them out and turn this place into one of his chain of cooking schools.”

 

“Why would he do that?”

 

Aiba chuckled. “Dad doesn’t like Ninomiya-san very much.”

 

Sakurai never went looking for gossip about his employers, but it was hard to resist when the information was being given so freely. “But their sons are close? You and your Ninomiya?”

 

“Oh yeah. My parents both love Kazu. He just gets on with people, I don’t know how he does it.”

 

“I think it’s pretty clear that people like you too, Aiba-chan.” Sakurai picked up the menu, more occupied with choosing his lunch carefully than his words. “I’ve had to speak to a lot of people about hiring part-time workers this past week, and everyone I’ve spoken to has said any spots would fill up fast; people just _want_ to work for you. I think you might be Chiba’s Prince Charming.”

 

Aiba didn’t answer, and Sho peeked over the top of the menu only for their eyes to meet. Just as the silence had stretched too long, Aiba broke into a shy grin. “Chiba’s Prince Charming, huh? Nino’s called me that before.”

 

“See, he would know, wouldn’t he?” Sakurai tried to sound supportive. He didn't want to assume anything, but it was becoming obvious that Aiba had a special relationship with Nino. The sort of relationship that continued even when it might displease a parent, and one that had Aiba purchasing clothes that would leave the wearer nearly naked.  
  
“I don’t think he meant it as a compliment then.” Aiba smirked, remembering some private joke.

 

“Well I do.” Sakurai didn’t know anything about Nino that Aiba hadn’t told him, of course, but he felt a stab of irritation that someone had preempted words he had intended to be kind and made a mockery of them. “I don’t know how anyone can call you that and _not_ mean it.”

 

Masaki shrugged. “We were following his classmate around Disney at the time and he needed a distraction so….”

 

Sakurai breathed a sigh. “I don’t think I’m ever going to understand more than half the things you say.”

 

“Matsujun says _that_ all the time too!” Aiba placed their order then, helping Sakurai pick between two dishes by getting both. “They’re both good Sho-chan, and I’ll eat whatever you don’t.”

 

The food came, and Sakurai would have liked to focus more on the amazing tastes and textures presented, but Aiba had decided he’d talked about himself too much and began a round of twenty questions with Sho while the gardener’s mouth was still full of pickled cucumber and rice.

 

He asked about where Sho grew up, and the places he spent his time as a teen; he was fascinated by the fact that Sakurai had gotten an ear piercing at sixteen and been kicked out of the family home for it. Sakurai talked about working part-time jobs and sofa surfing until he got himself through high school. Out of school, Sho had taken on work as summer labour at a botanical garden and finally found the vocation that made sense to him. There really wasn't much to tell after that; Sakurai had reconciled with his family in his mid-twenties and found a good position with the Imai family before taking the job as groundskeeper for Aiba's family in Tokyo.

 

“I can’t picture you as a teenaged bad boy at all.” Aiba’s whole body radiated amusement.

 

He wasn’t sure whether to take offence at that or not. “I had dyed blonde hair and a loose perm.”

 

“But you cared enough about school to work so hard to finish it, right? I bet you were popular.”

 

“Before I got kicked out of the family home was probably the peak of my popularity.” He couldn’t deny it; the rough image and good family background had been a heady mix, but without one or the other, he was just another face in the crowd. That had bothered him when he was younger; but he found he enjoyed it as he grew up.

 

They passed the meal on light conversation, and eventually, the topic came around to smaller projects that Sho wanted to take up. He mentioned that he had thought about using the greenhouse and the beds around it to grow produce for the kitchen. With the small number of staff, Sho thought he would be able to grow enough to keep the whole house in fresh fruit and vegetables.

 

He had gotten the idea from the small kitchen garden Koyama had kept outside the cottage for his personal use. Sho would have just maintained that one if his skill with vegetables extended to cooking them, he admitted to Aiba; instead, he thought it was better that he let the cook handle that aspect.

 

“You don’t cook much, Sho-chan?”

 

“I boil things mostly. And I can fry bacon and eggs, but cooking is not really something I’m good at. What about you? I noticed a lot of your experiments are with food.” His last comment coincided with their plates being collected and the older woman failed to hold in a reactive cough.

 

She had been utterly unobtrusive while they ate, but at the unintended outburst, she ducked apologetically to Sho and scurried away again. Sho looked to Aiba for some sort of answer.

 

“Aunt E doesn’t approve of mixing food and science. For historical reasons. As my biggest fan, she would much rather I stick to my meteorological research.”

 

“Your biggest fan?”

 

“Well, she has read all of my published papers.”

 

Before coming to Chiba, Sakurai had known that Masaki had earned some acclaim in academia, it was in the time since meeting him that Sho had forgotten that fact. Somehow, knowing that the eldest son of the Aiba family was a respected scholar was different to remembering that Aiba Masaki had earned two PhDs and made strides in his field. “I’d like to read them sometime too.”

 

“Really?” His eyes widened, his back straightening with pleasure. “I have copies in the study if you mean it. The guys never want to look at my proper stuff.”

 

Sakurai could tell how happy he had made Aiba with his request, and it filled him with a strange sort of ache that something so small could have such an impact on the man. It made him feel bigger too, as if the act of making Masaki happy made him more important to the the world at large. He tried not to delve too deeply into those raw emotions; he’d been a people pleaser ever since he’d taken his earring out for his high school graduation ceremony, after all.

 

When they were done, Aiba asked if he should call Haru to take them home. “I didn’t even check if you had anything you needed to do today.”

 

“No, it’s fine. I definitely learned about your Chiba today. Thank you.”

 

Aiba’s cheeks flushed a little at that. “Oh, I guess I didn’t really show you many different places, huh? I know, next time we should bring Nino and Matsujun too.”

 

“Sure.” Sho agreed. “Next time.”

 

-

 

There were unfamiliar faces every day now, Aiba noticed, when looking out of his window to the grounds below. Spring was coming to a close and the part-time help Sakurai had hired to get the gardens in top form were working flat out for him. There were only seven of them; mostly young locals earning a bit of extra cash sharing the workload over each week. None of them worked more than three days in a week, which had frustrated Aiba at first, when he was trying to remember their names.

 

Sakurai was a more common sight near the house now too; coming in and out of his cottage to check plans and paperwork while he supervised and directed their work. Aiba had work to do too, the completion of which was the reason he was spending so much time in the upstairs lab. It was hard not to look through the large lattice window, with its wide view of the lands and the front door of Sho’s cottage framed perfectly by the glass from his desk.

 

Aiba was still trying to reconcile himself to the sting of rejection he had felt when Sakurai had declined his offer to use the office downstairs. Weeks ago, the scientist had suggested that Sho should not have to struggle to work from his small kitchen, and had offered the space without any ill intentions. Sakurai had turned him down so quickly, and with such a look of panic, that Aiba had been afraid to bring it up again.

 

No matter how well they got on, or how easy it was in each others company, every so often, Aiba would remember himself – and Nino’s dire warnings – and he’d have to retreat to a safe distance again. Until he began to miss the friendship, more than he desired the man, and it was safe to wander back into the greenhouse, and check on the vegetables Sakurai had put aside for his experiments.

 

As the weather turned warmer, one particular face began to appear more and more at Sakurai’s side, one he didn’t have a name to put to. For the last two weeks, Sakurai had been closely followed by a carpenter in paint-splashed dungarees and a weighty tool belt hanging sloppily over narrow hips. He was never with Sakurai when the gardener came into the house for anything, but Aiba saw them from inside often; huddled close, serious discussion punctuated with uninhibited laughter. Sakurai put his arm around the man’s shoulder more than once, right out in the open. Then, when all the other staff had gone home or turned in for the evening, Sakurai sometimes let the stranger into his cottage, and Aiba never saw him leave those night.    

 

He tried not to look, he really did, but it was impossible. He wasn’t seeking anything from Sho, really he wasn’t, but sometimes he was sure the gardener was flirting with him. It was so easy to respond in kind, even when he knew it could only ever end in a cold shower by himself; it had kept him warm in the chill of the season. Since the carpenter had begun his work however, constructing trellises and fences and whatever else Sho asked of him, Aiba had seen much less of the groundskeeper. Sho sought him out less, he sent less messages, even ones strictly about work, and he seemed cagier, when Aiba wanted to find him in the garden.  

 

It should have made it easier to let go of his crush, but just like when he saw Sho effortlessly shoulder 30kg of soil, it only ignited more interest in the man.

 

The friendship, at least, he could be open about when Matsumoto Jun came back to town and they capped off a shopping trip at a karaoke bar where they both had given up singing halfway through the second song. Matsumoto had been quick to comment on Masaki’s low mood, and to see through him when he tried to play it off as tiredness.

 

“Aiba-chan, what is it? Are you waiting on a peer review or something?” Even if he never read his papers, Jun knew how waiting to hear feedback on them was usually a fraught time for the scientist.

 

Aiba didn’t have anything currently under review however. “Did you see all the work going on at the house?” He took a long drink of beer; his throat suddenly dry and himself in need of the courage it supplied.

 

“The landscaping? Yeah, I saw. Nino said your mother sent her own gardener up because she couldn’t get you to do it yourself?”

 

His head was already fuzzy; he didn’t need the added worry of what Nino might have said to Jun. “Nino told you?”

 

Jun, usually much less composed than Aiba by the end of a night out, was faring much better so early in the evening. Unlike Aiba, Jun had not inhaled his first drink and had actually eaten some of the snacks they had ordered with subsequent drinks. He was incredibly cool, sitting with his knees crossed, lounging over the padded bench sofa. “He did.”

 

Aiba scrubbed at his own face, cringing. Matsumoto didn’t launch into the scolding Aiba expected though. The silence was worse. Jun’s wrath could be scary, but his judgement stung in a different way. “I’m doing my best, here.” He defended himself miserably. “But they’ve hired this one guy…. He stays in the cottage Jun-kun! Everyone else goes home after work, but not this guy.”

 

Matsumoto was not as scandalised as Aiba thought he should be. He just seemed confused. “I thought the gardener has always lived in the cottage on the grounds? It never bothered you when it was the old man.”

 

“That was different.”

 

“How? The guy has to _live_ there Aiba-chan. You really don’t get any say about how he chooses to live. Unless you plan on getting rid of the cottage or the gardener?”

 

“I don’t want to get rid of Sho-chan!” The very idea offended him. “I’m just worried about the other guy.”

 

“I am confused here. Who’s Sho-chan? What other guy?”

 

Aiba could literally feel his frustrations piling up. He didn’t understand how Jun didn’t get it. “My gardener is sleeping with someone he hired, Jun-kun!” He whined. He told Jun he was worried about the effect it might have on Sho’s reputation and by extension, the Aiba name. Even as the words spilled from him, he could taste his own lies. It wasn’t the irresponsibility of Sho’s actions that disappointed Masaki; it was that he wasn’t the one getting reckless with the gardener.

 

If the Aiba name was going to get muddied by an affair, Aiba Masaki felt he should at least be one half of that affair.

 

He pouted into his glass. It was more than he could admit to Matsumoto, too selfish even if it wasn’t reprehensible in other ways. And maybe there was a part of him that wanted Jun to be shocked; to remind Aiba what a bad idea such things were and help firm up his resolve.

 

“No one is going to care if two of your employees shack up Aiba-chan.” Matsumoto betrayed him completely. “You get final say on all hiring right? So they both work for you. Workplace romances aren’t even that uncommon these days.”   

 

Trying to trick Jun into giving him a pep talk had backfired gloriously, and it was the last thing Aiba remembered of the night before when he woke up the following morning. Jun hadn’t spent the night, but he rarely did; he tended to find a different kind of company by the end of the night.

 

It was Miho’s morning off, and Aiba didn’t like to bother the staff when he was nursing a hangover anyway, so he pulled himself out of bed when the sunshine broke through the blinds to hit him directly in the eyes. His mouth tasted stale, the inside feeling furry and too warm as he stood and wobbled his way towards the kitchen. He was piecing together his journey home the night before-- he recalled Haru pushing him to lay on the back seat of the car and then he’d had some help getting up the stairs.

 

His pre-dawn helper was in the kitchen when Aiba opened the door. The carpenter was leaning into the refrigerator, pulling various ingredients from the shelves. Aiba stared.

 

“Morning.” He offered the greeting without looking up or pausing. His voice wasn’t loud, and the syllables ran together a bit, but he sounded more alert than Aiba felt.

 

A few different questions rolled around Aiba’s head, and he picked the first one that came out as a complete sentence “What are you doing?”  

 

“Breakfast.” He tried several cabinets until he found the pan he wanted.

 

“Why?”

 

The stranger pointed towards a cork notice board hanging near the back door. Nakayama kept a weekly schedule of deliveries, appointments, days off, and more recently, current experiments. “The cook is off.”

 

“No, I mean, _why_ are you _here_?” Aiba felt like he might still be drunk, it seemed too surreal to have his unintentional rival puttering around his kitchen like he belonged in the space more than Aiba himself.

 

“You told me it was too late to go back to Sho-kun’s place last night, so I crashed on your couch instead. One of ‘em anyway.”

 

Slowly, and to Aiba’s dawning horror, the memory returned. He’d been in such a state last night that Haru hadn’t been able to handle him alone. Then the carpenter had appeared from somewhere and offered to help. Aiba couldn’t remember if he had introduced himself or not, be he did remember the man practically carrying him up the stairs. The carpenter was much smaller than Aiba, shorter and more slender, but they’d made it to his room in one piece.

 

He’d been grateful then, sinking into his mattress, until the stranger had invoked Sakurai's name so easily. Which was when he had petulantly muttered about how awful it would be to wake Sakurai up after he’d worked so hard all day.

 

Aiba didn’t know what was worse: that he’d said such a thing out loud or the fact that the carpenter had actually listened to him. He winced, wondering what sort of damage control he might need to do now. “I’m sorry, ah…?”

 

“Call me Ohno.”

 

“I’m sorry Ohno-kun, for putting you through such trouble last night. Thank you for your help.”

 

Ohno cracked a few eggs into the same pan with the bacon. “Your couch is more comfortable than Sho-kun’s anyway. You want some of this?”

 

Ohno been on Sho’s couch last night? Maybe it wasn’t Aiba who had to worry about damage control. His stomach churned, distracting him from his thoughts. The carpenter dished up two plates onto the counter and began to eat where he stood. Aiba stood awkwardly for a moment. “Uh..., the dining table is just through there” He gestured through doors behind himself.

 

Ohno shrugged. “Here’s good.” He carried on, and Aiba, at a loss, joined him.

 

He tried to make some sort of small talk, but the carpenter wasn’t very receptive to pleasantries, and Aiba gave up pretty quickly. Once he accepted that they were eating in silence, it wasn’t so bad. Up close, in the bright light of day, Ohno was different from how Aiba had imagined. From the way Sakurai’s body language had deferred to him, Masaki had expected Ohno to be more cocksure and grating. But Ohno’s confidence was a quiet kind; unassuming but unquestionable.

 

It wasn’t that he _acted_ like he belonged in Aiba’s house, in his kitchen, cooking breakfast; it was that he couldn’t see why he _wouldn’t_ belong there. It was a different perspective on things that Aiba had never witnessed before and he was able to see it in the span of time it took to share bacon and eggs with the man.

 

Ohno left to get back to work, and Aiba decided it was time to face the day properly. He needed a shower and some industrial strength painkillers before he would be in any condition to step outside. A new message arrived while he dressed, and his stomach flipped in a way that had nothing to do with his hangover and everything to do with its sender. It was from Sakurai.

 

**Do you have some time to meet with me in the greenhouse later?**

The message was completely professional, of course, and probably relating to the growth of the moulded vegetables that Sakurai was so kindly keeping a daily observation of on Aiba’s behalf. But he still felt like an excited teen when he tapped out his reply. **Sure. When?**

**Any time after lunch.** Sakurai’s response was almost immediate, gratifyingly, and followed quickly by a second reply. **Just let me know when you’re ready.**

 

If he was speaking to any of his other friends, Aiba might have been tempted to comment on just how _ready_ he always was for Sakurai. Instead, he sent a thumbs up emoji and pocketed his phone.

 

Since activity at the house had picked up, the cook had begun arranging shared meals for the staff once more, and lunch was available courtesy of the Aiba household between twelve and two, with the part-time staff encouraged to make use of the amenity. Aiba’s food was brought to him as normal in his office, but he was aware that Sakurai had begun coming in to grab a plate of whatever was on offer during the day. Aiba hadn’t even needed to ask; Nakayama made a point of telling him the comings and goings of her newest colleague.

 

So when the maid mentioned that Sakurai had taken his lunch earlier that day, Aiba had to make himself take his time with his own meal. He headed to the greenhouse the moment he finished anyway.

 

He found the gardener just outside the structure. He had his overalls tied around his waist again, the warmer weather and heavy work making the undershirt cling in very interesting ways. Aiba didn’t get to enjoy the view however, as Sho straightened up and watched him approach.

 

“Hey, you wanted to see me?”

 

Sakurai gave a nod. “I wanted to talk to you about something but uh…. Can we walk?”

 

“Pardon?” Aiba was suddenly thrown off-kilter by the way Sho seemed slightly restless; he started walking, barely waiting for Aiba to fall into step beside him before he just started to talk.

 

“The summer is nearly here, so your parents and your brother and his family will be arriving soon.” He began, leading Aiba down some freshly laid meandering path. “So I wanted to do this before they got here.”

 

Masaki knew the general direction they were heading it, obviously, but the layout of the grounds had been so changed by the landscaping, that he couldn’t guess exactly where Sho was wandering to. There was something about the nervous tone in his voice that worried Aiba though. “Sho-chan…? What is this about?”

 

“The thing is, I’ve had this secret, you know, and I’ve been keeping it from you for a while. Me and Ohno-kun both have.”

 

He flinched, his step faltering so much he had to look down at his feet to keep from tripping over himself. “Ah, you don’t need to—Sho-chan, you don’t have to tell me this. Whatever you and Ohno-kun are…. It’s your business.”

 

“Of course it’s your business.” Sho scoffed. “We’ve been doing it on your property, after all.” He didn’t break stride at all, and Aiba had fallen behind in his shock. He had to race to catch up as Sho turned the corner to the lake.

 

That was when the newly built gazebo finally came into view. Aiba stared.

 

“I had Satoshi replicate the design from pictures Nakayama found for me.” Sakurai explained over Masaki’s speechless silence. “I know it’s not the same yet; it’ll take a few years for the roses to climb the trellises to the height you remember, but they’re the same genus.”

 

“You… I can’t believe you did this.” The smile he couldn’t hold down became a joyful whoop as he broke into a sprint to cover the last stretch of ground before the structure. Every detail was perfect, right down to the design of the benches under the shelter. He took it all in, climbing the few steps slowly; the wood still smelled new, the tang of the chemical weathering treatment lingering, but the familiar scent of roses came on the breeze, and suddenly, Aiba was transported to memories that were more than twenty years gone.

 

Tears threatened to spill from the corners of his eyes.

 

“Aiba-san?” The slightly nervous tremble was back in his voice. “Are you OK?”

 

“Perfect. It’s perfect Sho-chan.” He finally turned to face the gardener when Sakurai came into the gazebo behind him. His eyes were watery, so he blinked and laughed to clear his vision. “I had no idea you were doing something like this.”

 

“That’s good.” His expression became smug, and Aiba was hit by how well the emotion suited Sho’s face. “It was meant to be a surprise. I didn’t even dare work in your office in case you came by and saw something that gave it away.”

 

“But…. Why?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You could have just put up a new gazebo. Why go to the trouble of making a replica of the old one?”

 

Sakurai did a lot of things at once then: He shook his head with a smile, rolling his eyes while he plopped unceremoniously down on a bench seat. “Because you wouldn’t have reacted like _that_ to a new gazebo.”

 

Aiba blushed. He must seem ridiculous to someone as sensible and down to Earth as Sakurai. He was nearly in tears, for goodness sake! “How long before the roses grow again?” Aiba squeaked, lowering himself to sit on the other edge of the bench.  
  
“A few years.”

 

“Too late to hide how embarrassingly I behaved then?” He quipped.

 

Sakurai didn’t laugh at his joke however. His gaze met Aiba’s and Sho seemed to be thinking carefully about his words. When he did eventually speak, he was quiet, barely audible of the rustle of leaves and the lap of nearby water. “I wish I could hide in here too.” He murmured. “With you.”

 

Aiba’s breath caught, but no sound came out.

 

Sho blinked. “Ah, but I can’t skip out on work!” He added briskly, his cheer not quite ringing true. “So I guess you’ll just have to hang out here with Ninomiya-kun, or your family when they get here.”

 

“I’d rather be here with you.” He said sincerely, before his courage could desert him.

 

They faced each other in charged silence. Aiba had been brave, but only because Sakurai had showed him how, but neither knew what to do once the tension had been acknowledged. Aiba ached to reach out, but he did not dare; warnings still rang inside his skull, even as Sho sat inches away, and seemingly leaning imperceptibly closer while the gardener searched his face for some clue as to how to respond.

 

“Will you fire me?” Sho asked then. “If I kissed you right now?”

 

“Huh? NO!” Aiba jumped. “No way. Not that- I mean, not that I _want_ you to. Or – well, obviously I do _want_ to – but you don’t have to. Er, I wouldn’t fire you if you _didn’t_ , I mean.” He gesticulated wildly, the erratic motions almost as confusing as his use of language.

 

He was still trying to make sense of his own hasty explanation when Sakurai surged forward and closed the distance to press their lips together. Aiba shut up. It was quick, fierce and hot, and over far too quickly. Masaki was left breathless and reeling.

 

“Too dangerous.” Sakurai sighed afterwards, although he did not clarify. “I have to get back; I’m glad you liked your surprise.”

 

“Which one?” Aiba managed to ask in a daze. Sakurai burst into a noisy laugh as he left the gazebo and walked away. Masaki stayed where he was for a while after Sho left, too affected to move anyway.

 

-

 

For the first time in weeks, Aiba wasn’t too busy with work to take his dinner at the dining table with the staff.

 

“Aiba-san, you’ll be joining us tonight?” The cook carried a large nabe pot through to the dining room, in her apron. Once everything was set out, she would also sit down to eat. It was something of a tradition in the sparsely populated Aiba home, and the staff had been taking their evening meal together for a long time.

 

Aiba had turned up a little early, Haru was still out on some automotive errand and Miho had yet to appear, although she usually set the table. “Yes please. I’ll help set the places.”

 

“Ah, thank you. You’ll need to use the whole table today; I’ve already loaded the trolley with the crockery; it’s just inside the kitchen doors.”

 

Aiba gaped. Not because of the casual instruction, the cook had always treated Masaki like a beloved but overindulged grandson: The dining table had room to seat twelve people, and it hadn’t been occupied to capacity outside of summer in years. “The whole thing?”

 

“Well, I did consider pulling out the table extension from storage, but we should be able to squeeze you in, especially since Miho-chan won’t be joining us.” She winked at him. “I must say, it’s fun to cook for all these strapping young part-timers Sakurai-kun has wandering around the place. Every time I turn around there’s another mouth to feed.”

 

“Should I let Matsujun and Nino know that they have some competition then?”

 

“What competition? Little Matsumoto is always on some diet and Kazu-kun eats like a bird. Sakurai-kun though: _That_ boy has an appetite I can approve of.” Aiba couldn’t argue with that.

 

It had been nearly a week since The Kiss, and Aiba hadn’t seen or heard from Sakurai since. He knew that they were both busy; Aiba with a paper that needed to be ready in the next few days, and Sakurai with making sure everything was ready for the rest of the Aiba family’s arrival. They hadn’t even had a moment to talk about it; he’d considered sending a message, but he didn’t know how to begin.

 

Dinner was lively by the time everyone arrived. Aiba was sat at the far end, with Ohno at one elbow and the cook at the other. It was noisy and energetic in the way large groups of people with a lot to say tended to be, and even Ohno shouted across the table sometimes with a joke or to ask for a side dish that was out of his reach.

 

Sakurai was loudest of all though. He talked to everyone, bringing them into discussions, leading debates and praising their work. He managed to sound clear and well spoken around mouthfuls of food, because at no point did he stop enjoying his food either. He was on the other side of Ohno, and Aiba had to acknowledge a pang of jealousy every time Sho took a bite and moaned close to Ohno's ears.

 

Aiba preferred to listen during these dinners; it let him to gauge how the house was running, so he was caught off-guard when the topic turned to his experiments, and questions started flying in his direction. It seemed a few of the new workers had come across some of his set-ups while on the grounds, and had been left baffled by the signs Aiba had seen fit to place, so that his tests were unmolested. Aiba had recently taken to planning many more horticultural experiments too, and the platinum ring placed carefully on the branch of a rose bush had raised some eyebrows.

 

“Maru-kun nearly took the whole limb off with the pruning shears before he saw the sign.” One of the young men from down the table elbowed his mate, who tried to apologise and choke on his food all at the same time. “We had to ask Sakurai-san what it meant.”

 

Sakurai took up the conversation. “They were standing there, wondering if you had gotten engaged to a plant.” He confessed, gleefully.

 

Aiba could only apologise. He hadn’t considered how his sudden interest in the garden would impact the work his new groundskeeper was trying to do. Contrite, he offered to abandon his plant based observations.

 

Ohno objected. “You can’t do that.” He said, barely looking up from his food and missing the worried looks of several labourers as he told Aiba they were running a pool on the results of most of the experiments. “The winner gets a paid day off.”

 

“That’s not it.” Sakurai jumped in. “I said I’d do the work of whoever won for a day.”

 

“Right.” Ohno nodded. “So a day off.”

 

“It’s not-”

 

“Is that all?” Aiba pondered out loud. “Whenever Nino guesses an outcome right, he says I owe him a meal and a cheque for wasting his time. Maybe he has a point after all.” With that, Aiba offered his support to the ongoing wager, although he refused to give his own hypothesis, and instead he added to the prize with a free meal.

 

After dinner, Sakurai found him alone, to thank him, and apologise for not checking first about the friendly wager he’d set up. “No, no.” Aiba waved away his concerns. “I should have checked before I set anything up outside anyway. I was going to…. I meant to but….” He trailed off. Masaki had set-up those experiments just after their encounter in the gazebo, partly as reasons to spend more time on the grounds. Masaki couldn’t very well tell the gardener that he’d skipped telling Sakurai about it because his motives were far from pure.

 

“Anyway, I’m sorry if they’re getting in your way. If you need to move anything or get rid of them, that’s OK.”

 

Sakurai breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I wasn’t sure how to tell you; I’d already moved some of the plants to the greenhouse.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Well, ah, I figured your experiment was more about the casts you want the fruits and vegetables to grow in, right? But you’re using some very out of season fruits and vegetables, and they won’t last well outside.”

 

Aiba had wondered about that, but the seeds had germinated just fine in their small pots in his lab, and he didn’t think a change of environment after that would be too big of a variable. Well, maybe he had, but he’d originally wanted to cover more ground. “Ah, th-thank you.”

 

Aiba must have sounded more stiff than he intended, because Sakurai continued in a placating manner. “I was very careful, and I’ve made them their own little corner, so when you come to observe them, it should be easy to note their condition.”

 

“You’ve been...taking care of them?” Aiba felt his heart thump. There was something so charming about the idea of Sakurai collecting together his scattered, abandoned plants and rehousing them safely, looking after them with far more consideration than Aiba himself had given them.

 

“Well, it’s kind of in my job description.” Sakurai laughed, and Aiba’s wild imaginings came back to Earth so abruptly, all he could do was chuckle along too.

 

Really, what was wrong with him? He’d found plenty of people attractive in his life, and those people hadn’t invaded his every waking thought. What was it about Sakurai that had him wanting to read more into every innocuous action? “That’s great Sho-chan, I’ll take a look first thing in the morning.”

 

Sakurai blinked. “Of course, I should let you get on with your evening.”

 

“Mmm. I’m just going to check on Nakayama-san first. It’s not like her to miss dinner.”

 

Sakurai nodded. “I looked in on her earlier.” He told Aiba then, there was a subtle shift in the way he held himself suddenly. His body language was tighter, his expression worried. “She seemed to get light-headed this morning when she called us to breakfast. I helped her to her room but she wouldn’t let me call a doctor.”

 

“I’ll take care of it.” Aiba assured him. He turned to head in the direction of the staff wing.

 

Sakurai stopped with a hand on his elbow. Aiba pulled his arm away quickly. “No offence Aiba-san, I know you have a few PhD’s but I think she needs a _real_ doctor.”

 

“I got it.” He insisted. If he was curt, it was because he was worried, and because the ease with which Sakurai reached out to grab him gave him an edgy thrill which was completely ill-timed. He left Sakurai behind, and dialled Jun’s number as he climbed the stairs two at a time. Nakayama at least, might get a kick out of being treated by Jun; she always said it was a shame he didn’t practice medicine locally.

 

*

 

Sho hadn’t actually been to many places inside the Aiba house. On the ground floor, he’d only ever used the kitchen and the dining room, and seen the office. And until he’d helped Nakayama into one of the guest rooms to recover, he’d only visited the lab on the second floor. But that had been three days ago, and the elderly woman was now at home with her family, and thoroughly enjoying home visits from the illustrious Dr Matsumoto. Now, there was no one Sakurai could safely ask for directions as he wandered around trying to find Aiba’s bedroom.

 

He could have pretended he had some official business and asked Haru, but Sakurai didn’t want anyone to witness what might become his greatest humiliation. Along the East hallway, Sho saw light spilling from beneath just one room, and he approached quietly. He knocked gently. He expected to hear Aiba’s voice summoning him inside. That was how the man usually responded to a knock at his lab door; he never got up or stopped what he was doing – just told whoever it was to make their way instead.

 

It came as something as a shock then, when the door was pulled open, and Masaki stood there in nothing but his boxers.

 

In fairness, Aiba seemed just as surprised to see him. “Sho-chan?” A beat passed between them, and Aiba stepped aside so Sho could walk into the room and close the door behind himself.

 

“I’m sorry for coming here like this.” He began. He had a lot to say, fuelled by indignation and frustration, and he knew he had to speak quickly or he would lose his nerve. “But, I’ve been waiting for you to come to me for nearly two weeks and it didn’t happen so….”

 

“Huh? What are—”

 

Sakurai continued over the top of him. “You said it was OK, didn’t you? That you wanted it the same as I did. Were you lying?”

 

“No!” Aiba answered quickly.

 

“Good.” Sakurai stepped into the space right in front of the half-naked scientist. He could feel the heat coming from his skin, but he didn’t touch the taller man. “Whatever you do want, however much; I want the same as you.” He watched the way the lump in Masaki’s throat bobbed as his eyes raked over Sakurai and he swallowed, licking his lips.

 

“You work for me Sho-chan. I’m your boss.” Aiba choked out reluctantly. “This isn’t fair to you.”

 

Sakurai pulled a face. “No offence, Masaki, but you’re not the boss of any of the staff in this house. Besides the fact that your father cuts all the cheques, Everyone here thinks of you as a grandson, nephew or a charming idiot. I’m the latter, by the way.”

 

A slow, appreciative grin spread across Aiba’s features. “You know, my mother warned me about bad boys like you Sho-chan.”  
  
“Well, I took my ear piercing out for graduation, but the Principle didn’t know about the belly button piercing, so I’ve never had a reason to take that out….”

 

As soon as the words were spoken, Aiba reached out to lift Sho’s top and confirm his claim. He eyed up the jewel studded bar nestled near Sakurai’s abs with a look of pure lust. “Anything else you want to show me before we go any further?” He asked eventually.

 

“Only my lucky red pants, but then, you’ve already seen those before, right?”

 

Aiba shut him up by pulling Sakurai close and burying his face in the curve of his shoulder. Sakurai melted into the embrace, his hands raking messily through Aiba’s hair.

 

Later, they would need to talk about where they would go from here. Later.

 

But for now, it was just them, alone with each other, and the only thing that mattered was how they felt, and how they made each other feel.


End file.
